


Devil Inside

by Ranranbolly



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad movies, Blood, Bloodlust, Corruption, F/M, M/M, Mirrors, Pool Party, Slaughter, Vampires, crazy parties, creative taxidermy, funhouse, hellhound, marko cheats, mind tricks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 58,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranranbolly/pseuds/Ranranbolly
Summary: The night after Michael tries to find answers from Star, David decides to make a few changes to Max's family plan. Sam and Lucy might be safe from Santa Carla's nightmares for a little while, but Michael won't be so lucky.





	1. No Easy Answers

**Author's Note:**

> Really short opening chapter because I'm actually still working on this one off and on, but I figured it was time to at least post a small portion of it. Another solo work. Kage is getting surgery pretty soon for an issue she has been coping with for a long time. I'd like to share her gofundme with you guys. Recovery is not going to be easy at all, and every penny counts. https://www.gofundme.com/desiree039s-postop-recovery

Her skin was cool, like the bed sheets beneath them. When her hair fell over his face and he breathed in the scent of Star, all Michael could think of was dried flowers and earth. Tasting her lips-her skin, he felt as if he didn't need to breathe. Though he'd come to the hotel that night desperate for answers, somehow he hadn't gotten any. Star was  _very_ good at changing the subject.

Then it was all over, and rather than linger at his side, she tangled her legs into the covers and pulled away. Star's became a puzzle about her that he couldn't solve. Michael was left alone on his side of the bed to dwell on half-formed thoughts and bad dreams. After an hour or so of drifting in and out of sleep, debating with himself whether or not to head home, he noticed something very strange. Wind. Brushing at his hair.

Michael cracked open an eye and sat up. He brought his injured hand to his face and examined the bandage wrapped around it. Should've gone to the ER or something last night. He couldn't even feel any pain anymore. Was it already that bad? He yanked the bandage off, prepared for the worst. But-nothing? His eyes flicked over Star's prone form. Would waking her do him any good? He doubted it.

Then the fire in the oil barrels died completely, and a coolly amused voice pierced the darkness, and Michael had to force himself not to jump up.

"Don't mind us, just coming back from breakfast. Marko forgot to grab donuts, sorry."

 _David._ Whatever was happening to Michael, whatever Star wouldn't tell him, it was all because of David. Somehow. Michael's mind was racing to come up with something, anything to calm himself down. It could've just been a bad trip. Too much pot. A massive hit of acid in the wine. Funky Chinese food, even. But vampires? Right,  _sure_. Sam just read too many monster comics, that was all.

Michael lowered his hand, forcing himself to ignore the nagging fear in his stomach that he was just kidding himself. He directed his attention fully at the group of snickering bikers, and god knew how long they'd been watching him. Despite the lack of any real light in the lobby now, he could still see them now that he knew where to look. Silhouettes and odd shapes. The red glow of a cigarette butt bouncing as David stepped forward with a smile playing on his lips. They were getting clearer by the second now that Michael had managed to shake the sleep from his eyes.

The assholes could've at least waited until he grabbed some pants before ruining what little was left of his night.

Star stirred at Michael's side, reaching out to touch his shoulder, reassuring and half-awake. Far warmer now in waking than sleep had made her. "Michael?" She asked, cracking open her eyes enough to glimpse his upturned face. She followed his gaze to the surrounding Lost Boys and jerked back from him, hurriedly wrapping her shawl about herself and curling back against her side of the bed while the sheet remained tangled about her bare legs.

Michael made a move to pull her closer, alarmed at her sudden change. "Hey, what's-" he began, only to be interrupted.

"-wrong?" David asked, focusing his gaze on Star. His eyes looked funny in the dying light of the oil barrels around them, now that he'd stepped close enough to one of them to be more than just shadow. He looked almost inhuman. Cold and amused.

"I'm fine," Star replied, staring ahead of her and making it a point to keep her eyes focused on some fascinating spot on the bed's moth-eaten canopy. "Michael was just leaving."

"Awwww, already?" Paul cooed, stumbling a little and grinning when Dwayne slugged him in the shoulder.

Michael bit back the unexpected sinking feeling in his stomach. They weren't serious. Exclusive. Only known each other a couple of days. Christ, she was living in the deathtrap hotel with a group of pot-smoking bikers. What did he honestly expect?

"Yeah, already," Michael replied to Paul's little jab. As soon as they backed the fuck off, he'd grab his pants and go. Give his pride a couple of days and maybe he'd be back to hanging out with them again. Or not. He didn't even know why he still wanted to after the weird reverse walk of shame he was about to make. She could've at least left him with the sheet to make this whole thing a bit less humiliating.

He kept himself in check throughout the entire painfully quiet minute or two it took him to scoop his jeans off of the ground and slip into them, while the rest of them drifted away, disinterested. At least he had that much. Once he was fully dressed, Michael tried to tell himself he didn't really want to look at Star again. It wasn't very convincing. She was still staring ahead at the canopy by the time he did look back at her. Wood crackled and popped when Dwayne tossed a couple of logs and gnarled sticks into one of the oil barrels, breaking the silence.

Michael didn't clear his throat before he spoke, focusing on holding back any hint of emotion in his voice beyond cool disregard, "I guess I'll see you later."

 _That_ finally got her attention. For a second. Her eyes flicked over him once or twice, and she re-adjusted her shawl about her shoulders, "goodbye." Michael really fucking hated how  _sorry_ she sounded right now. It'd be better if she didn't. Like he'd just been some panicked pity fuck on a slow night.

With friends like these-Michael began to wonder if it was even worth it just to have someone to hang out with, right before David caught him on the steps of the lobby exit, hand firmly gripping the shoulder of his jacket.

"Hey," David gave him a quick nod, "don't let her get to you," he advised quietly, "she's fun for about five minutes. Pulls that trick all the time."

Michael knocked David's hand away, unable to hide the agitation in his voice now, "is that right?"

"Yeah, sure," David glanced back towards the bed, where a shroud of thin fabric covered Star's empty eyes and sirensong lips, "Star's not really one of us. Too flaky. I'd like to get rid of her." There was an unspoken 'but' hanging in the air.

He wasn't lying. Michael didn't know exactly why he believed David, but he did. It was at least something to balm his wounded pride.

When he stumbled home and had the terse little chat with his mom that made him feel like the best son in the world, Lucy's pain-stricken face was a great way to finish off one of the worst 'days' he'd ever had. Sam asked him about taking care of his problem, and Michael just shrugged him off too. He didn't know what to say. Right now, all Michael really wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and forget for a few hours.

* * *

Lucy Emerson. Kind. Gentle. Meek. She wouldn't fight him. She had raised two boys herself, so she should have no trouble adapting to a much larger family. Perhaps he was rushing this, but Max so seldom met women like her. If Santa Carla didn't have such a lovely beach, and if the meals weren't so readily had here, he might have moved on to a much more civilized city. Somewhere the girls dressed like ladies and the boys buttoned their shirts.

Oh well, he thought, fate had his awarded his patience tenfold with this woman. She wouldn't be like the others, either. Certainly not.  _This_ time Max had made it very clear they were not to eat their mother. He had put a lot of trust in David recently, especially given how well they boys seemed to be treating their new siblings. It would get much better once Lucy was his, and they had their wedding dinner. The whole family should be fully turned by then. If not, there should be enough food to go around.

Thorn paced Max's bedroom floor, huffing and scratching at the bleach white carpet. The master vampire tried to ignore him, focusing instead on his bathroom mirror. It was fortunate, he mused, that on one's own property, without the need for an invitation, casting a reflection was not a problem. He straightened his lapels and ran the comb through his hair one last time.

The chill in his bedroom was almost immediate. Then there was the little matter of the papers flying off of his study desk, and the bookshelf rattling while several encyclopedias toppled to the ground.

Max adjusted his collar, refusing to look behind him, "I do wish you would use the door. Just once."

If he cared to step out of his master bathroom, he would see Marko scratching lewd words into his coffin lid. As it stood, the sound in itself was bad enough. Max had no doubt Paul would soon rile Thorn up, as well.

"Window was open," David's voice rang out, malicious and amused all at the same time. How much like a snake his eldest boy seemed at times, fangs dripping with unspent venom whenever he decided to toe the line of how far Max allowed him to go.

"Things are going to change around here pretty soon, boys," Max warned, finally satisfied that he looked the part of the handsome future husband and stepfather to a pair of far more respectful sons than his own, "which reminds me. Before I join Lucy for supper tonight, I'd like to know why you haven't given any of my blood to Michael or Samuel yet. I had hoped you would be good friends by now."

He didn't much like the sound of that striking match, which forced the master vampire to storm from his bathroom towards where David stood by the open window, lighting his damned cigarette. Before the flame could catch, Max removed the offending cigarette from David's hand and threw it out the window, "not in the house."

The blonde's false smile disappeared for only an instant, but certainly long enough for Max to catch it.

"How do you know we didn't give them any blood, huh?" David asked, flicking his burnt-out match onto the carpet. Dwayne stood behind him, quickly hiding a smirk by turning his head to the side.

Max would  _not_ let them bait him tonight. He would remain calm, and cheerful. Civilized. "I would have felt it," he pointed out, "just like I can feel the blood in all of my children," he grabbed David's chin firmly and gave him a good, patronizing shake. "There is no greater link than a father to his children."

Max did not miss Marko's snicker or the way David's lip curled up in a near-snarl. Cute.

" _Watch it,"_  Max advised in David's mind, pushing the thought at him so harshly that he knew his eldest would spend a good hour or so reeling from the headache. Max did let his boys run somewhat wild in Santa Carla, but he wasn't above reminding them of their place. The old blood stains on his basement floor were a testament to that fact.

Satisfied, Max released his hold on David's chin and mind, "now, if you'll excuse me, I have a dinner date to see to." He pointed towards his open bedroom window, "why don't you boys go have some fun of your own. Grab something to eat. I don't care who you kill tonight, just be sure to clean up the mess when you're done."

When the phone began to ring, the boys took that as their opportunity to leave, stirring up twice as much wind as they had when they'd arrived. Max glowered after them. If he hadn't known better, he would swear Dwayne had knocked the Tiffany lamp off of his dresser on purpose.

* * *

If Michael hadn't spent most of the day sleeping, and if he hadn't left his stereo in Phoenix, he'd probably be moping with Neil Young music right about then, or some stupid power ballad mix tape his freshman girlfriend had made for him. As it stood, the rest of the Emerson household was thankfully spared any acoustic guitars, synthesizers, or the painful demand from the bottom of Lou Gramm's soul to know what love was.

At some point, maybe between boiling the noodles and twisting Sam's arm to get him to take out the garbage, Lucy Emerson's mom senses started tingling. They'd already been activated by Michael's behavior, but they were primed now for a nice, long conversation now that he'd had at  _least_ ten hours to get all of the sleep he'd so desperately needed.

Easing open the bedroom door, Lucy peered in at her eldest son. He was awake now, for what it was worth, glaring drowsily at the ceiling in the dark. "You know, I could really use some help with dinner. Max is going to be here soon."

"Not hungry."

"You haven't eaten all day," Lucy turned on the light, wiping her hands on her apron when she realized how dangerously close she'd come to getting garlic butter on the light switch. "Micheal, honey, please just tell me what's wrong. Believe it or not, I do remember being a teenager. I  _might_  have some perspective on this sort of thing, whatever's bothering you."

"I had a bad night," he admitted, letting his guilt get the better of him. He'd been feeling off pretty much since the night he  _met_ Star. Maybe some of it was the bad weed, or the wine, or the schedule he was keeping. They hadn't even been in Santa Carla for a week, and he felt like he was going crazy.

Lucy turned on the light, approaching Michael's bed and patting his feet to get him to make some space for her to sit down. The mattress didn't even squeak. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to." She looked up at the ceiling, a wry smile on her lips, "god knows this move wasn't easy on you or Sam. Just don't fall into bad habits, sweety." She looked back at him, "things only get worse when you do. I should know. I spent seventeen years dealing with bad habits." Namely from her ex-husband, and Michael and Sam's dad.

"Yeah," Michael replied, more than aware Star could turn into one of his worst habits if he ran into her again. Right now he just wanted to cool down and maybe sleep a little more. It was almost dark out anyway. He could tell that much through the broken slats in his window shades. It kind of bugged him that he'd managed to do so much damage to them just by having a bad trip. He really hoped he hadn't been climbing out of the window when he'd thought he was flying. Maybe Sam could fill in the details later.

"I really want you to meet Max. I think it-" she hesitated, placing a comforting hand on Michael's calf, "-I think it would be good for you. For me. He's nice. If I call him now, I could change dinner to tomorrow night. After last night's mess, and this afternoon…" she trailed off.

"Afternoon?" That got his attention. "What happened?"

"It's just been a bad week," she shrugged it off, proving that they could both keep secrets. "I'll call him. He's probably still at home getting ready, and maybe it's better if Max comes over when you're feeling better anyway."

Michael sat up, "mom-"

"I love you," she cut him off, "he'll understand. If he's worth dating, he'll understand."

As much as it felt like this should be some grand moment, the climax of an afterschool special, he didn't really have much to say. The desire he'd had that morning when he got back to the house that maybe he wouldn't go back to the boardwalk or hang around David's gang seemed to just vanish. Whether it was the crushing weight of mom guilt Lucy was piling onto his back, or the need to just do something stupid to get over Star, he wasn't really sure. Plus, he could swear he'd heard Sam talking on the phone earlier when he'd had to get up to use the bathroom. Something about garlic cheese and holy water crotch baths. Michael wasn't too sure he really wanted to meet his brother's friends tonight. They sounded like whack jobs.

When Michael snuck out later that night, after Lucy had gone to bed early, his brother's door was cracked open just wide enough for him to catch a glimpse of Sam inside sitting on the edge of his bed with Nanook, whispering into the phone. All day. Jesus Christ, when gramps saw the bill he was going to have a heart attack.

"Tomorrow night. Yeah, just shove the mirror in your pants. It's got a crank? Where'd you find a mirror like that?" Sam continued, leading Michael to question whether Sam was the one who really needed help right now.

* * *

" _That one_ ," Paul whispered in their minds as he pointed over the railing at a girl hocking beaded necklaces with painted shell charms. He winked at a passerby on the beach; liked to toe the line between impish pestering and threats. They all did.

Dwayne eyed Paul's intended target, " _can't you wait until the party?"_

" _You think he's gonna go through with it tonight_?" Marko asked as he poked David in the shoulder, referring to the head vampire and master of dorks they were stuck with for a 'leader'. The almost-senile ancient who gave orders they only half-heartedly followed.

" _Nah,"_ David took a drag off his cigarette, leaning over his handlebars, " _he likes to have an audience. Watch, give it a couple of days and he'll drag us out for some stupid fucking speech first. Ten to one it'll be the good old family spiel. He loves that one."_

" _He should just slip her a mickey and get it over with,"_ Paul complained.

David grinned, " _that's what I'd do."_ His eyes were following one particular brunette on the boardwalk now picking his way through the crowd. He'd let Michael come to them. " _Max is an idiot."_

Whatever Max did or didn't do, the boys had their own plans tonight. They'd been playing games with this gang all year, picking off a couple here and there who took the bait too easy, staying far away from the surf just to let them think they were equals. And really, four against twelve or fifteen wasn't fair at all. The'd had to even the numbers just a little, right?

"So what's the plan?" Dwayne asked aloud, just sudden enough to startle a couple passing them. Tonight was supposed to be Star's last chance. She'd disappeared with Laddie right after sunset, which had been no surprise. When David and the boys first woke that evening, they could still smell her perfume wafting through the lobby. Old flowers and orange peels. Somehow she seemed to think that would cover the scent of death. Kinda funny. That smell was the only thing they really liked about her anymore.

"Max wants a god damned family so bad, he can make one himself. I'm sick of doing it for him. We'll deal with her when we get home," David replied with a dark smirk, signaling the others to be quiet just as he flicked his cigarette over the railing, right into a passing cloud of hair spray and sun-fried perms. It just barely missed. Too bad.

* * *

Laddie loved the boardwalk. He loved the flashing lights and the music, the hall of mirrors and the ferris wheel. He loved sticky sweet cotton candy on his fingers and water gun games. Not so long ago, just before summer, he'd lost his parents in the crowd, and a nice man with glasses gave him fruit punch and a sucker while he waited for them to find him.

The nice man took him on all the rides, let him eat all the cotton candy he wanted, and promised it could always be like that. He was too happy to go home. The first night. It was never that good again.

The second night, he woke up on a pile of old blankets in the dark. The nice man didn't seem so nice anymore, and the guys who took him to the boardwalk after that to get sick on cotton candy and spinning rides didn't bother to smile. He was hungry. Thirsty. Nothing seemed to fix that. Except-

"Laddie," Star urged, pressing the bottle into his hands, "I know you don't like it, but you'll feel better. We're going on a trip."

"How'd he find it?" Laddie asked, fingering the gold and silver metals around the bottom. They'd stolen the bottle a few days ago and kept it hidden, tucked away under Star's bed.

Star shook her head, "he didn't. I guess he had another one," she ran her fingers through Laddie's hair. Like his mom used to. "We're going on a trip for a few days, okay?"

"They'll find us," Laddie said flatly, "they always do." He didn't have the tone of a terrified child, or an innocent. Laddie had  _seen_ what they could do. He had smelled the blood from their parties, kept wrapped under Star's shawl when she'd whispered calming words to him, barely able to control  _herself._ He was tired. Laddie just didn't want to fight this any more.

"They won't find us," Star promised, "not this time," and she sounded just as sure as she always did. It helped Laddie hang on just a little longer. He took one long swallow from the bottle and passed it back to Star. There wasn't much left.


	2. New Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bonding with the boys, Max grabs a bite to eat and shares some fatherly wisdom, and Sam has a panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I try to make it a habit of-y'know, maybe waiting until I finish a story before I start posting the chapters. I'm still working on this one, but I just couldn't resist sharing just one more a little early. Yes, there will definitely be some Frog antics coming soon. Also, if you haven't gotten the chance, please check out Kage's gofundme I linked in the previous chapter. She wanted me to mention that we can even share the next chapter of one of our unfinished fics once the surgery is done.

"Hey," Michael called out, hands tucked firmly in his jacket pockets as he drew up alongside them, reminding himself to play it cool, trying his best to avoid asking the big question, 'where's Star?' He'd have gone back to the hotel first to check, but right now he wasn't entirely sure that was a good idea.

David was the first to turn his head, his lips twisted just slightly in the self-satisfied smile Michael was becoming familiar with. "If you're looking for Star, she's not here."

Michael immediately scowled, "I didn't-"

"Relax," David's smile grew even wider, "going to a party tonight. Wanna join us?"

"If it's anything like the other night, I think I'll sit this one out."

Paul snickered, passing a joint over to Dwayne, who in turn passed it to Marko while the silent trio watched their exchange. These guys had to be floating on a cloud right now. The strange looks they gave each other looked almost vicious.

"Suit yourself," David shrugged, "you're missing out."

"It's about to start," Dwayne reminded David quietly, drawing his own bike away from the railing.

"I'll catch up," David waved him off, directing his attention back to Michael, "so what's up?"

"Did you put something funny in that wine?" Michael decided to just come out with it, feeling a little stupid now that he'd voiced his concerns. Marko and Paul were drawing their bikes away from the railing now, too, leaving David alone just as Dwayne rode off to lead the way.

"Something funny?" David asked, in the most unconvincing display of innocent confusion the world had ever seen.

Michael rolled his eyes, sidling up against the railing and not-so-subtly flipping David off. Paul snickered, earning himself a punch in the shoulder from Marko before they both hopped on their bikes and sped off after Dwayne.

David's elbows were propped up on the railing as he leaned back with a laugh, "hey, we had fun, didn't we?" He slapped Michael on the shoulder, "you're one of us now. We kept an eye on you. Not like we would've let you jump off a bridge."

Michael flinched at the thought. He'd almost believed he'd actually done just that. "Just don't screw with me anymore, alright?"

"I'll do my best," David replied, not quite promising anything.

For a while, they just stood there, leaning against the railing and watching people on the boardwalk. It was an oddly comfortable silence. Michael wasn't quite so focused on thoughts about Star anymore, but instead on the curious looks of passersby cutting a wide swath around them. They weren't all curious. Some looked nervous, maybe even more. Others went out of their way to just avoid looking at David and Michael at all until they were well past them.

He saw a girl with cotton candy highlights and bright pink eyeshadow popping gum and playing with a coral necklace as she passed. His eyes followed the line of her fingers, and he couldn't help but notice how pale her neck was. Thin. If the guy on her arm hadn't noticed them at the very last second and steered her away, Michael could have reached out and brushed at her brightly-teased curls.

"People don't like you guys, do they?" Michael asked, not entirely surprised. These guys didn't have what you'd call a kids next door kind of vibe.

"We're not exactly boy scouts," David replied dryly, pulling out a flask hidden in one of his duster pockets.

"I think Sam's still got my old uniform in his closet if you want to try it out," Michael snarked, eyeing the flask. God knew what David was drinking now.

Taking a swig, David allowed himself a moment to savor the taste, closing his eyes and letting out a long, soft breath, "nah, I was never really into that 'do a good turn daily' bullshit."

Michael grinned, "you sure? I bet you help little old ladies cross the street all the time when nobody's looking."

David looked back at Michael with a thoughtful expression, "yeah, I guess you could say that." He re-capped his flask and tucked it under his coat, when something caught his attention. Michael didn't see anything interesting. Just a bunch of late night surfers walking into a burger shack, and a guy with huge shoulder pads and glasses-

"Is that guy watching you?" Michael asked, frowning. The guy was just standing there, peering back at them through bug-eyed lenses. "He looks pissed."

David casually looked back at Michael, slow and relaxed, "him? He's just a massive dick with nothing better to do. Probably thinks we stole something."

"Stole?" Michael prompted, not entirely surprised.

"Can't exactly live in the lap of luxury with a part time job, Michael," David replied, giving the guy watching them one last, long look before climbing onto his bike. "C'mon."

"I told you I didn't-"

"What? We're not going to the party. Just gonna give you the grand tour."

"Tour?" Michael asked doubtfully, looking out towards the beach. "It's sand. I've seen it."

David smirked, "the hotel, Michael. You only saw the first floor."

Considering this was the same guy who'd nearly gotten Michael killed driving to a cliff edge the night they met, and possibly drugged him too, he still wasn't completely convinced he wasn't about to be lead down another suicidal rabbit hole. Nor did he want to chance seeing Star tonight.

"You're not gonna back out on me, are you? C'mon, it'll be fun. No bats, I promise." David said, just on the verge of taunting.

Michael had never been very good at backing down. "Lead the way. I can handle it."

Once they left the boardwalk, with the roar of their bikes and the bite of cold wind snapping at his cheeks and neck, Star faded into yesterday. Just another flashing smile on a summer night. Maybe tomorrow he could forget about her altogether, when the salty ocean air washed away the fragrance of her perfume on his jacket.

Then again, that smell still hit him the second he stepped into the lobby with David, and it wasn't easy to pass her canopied bed without stopping to linger. He managed.

"Think I've got a flashlight somewhere around here," David remarked, kicking aside a rusted bed railing on one of the junk piles at the edge of the lobby. Twisted metal fingers and junkyard skeletons.

"How'd all this stuff get here?" Michael wondered aloud, nudging a discarded stiletto with his foot. Too small to be Star's.

"Trophies. Couple of wild parties. Kind of adds up," David replied with a shrug, only half-listening as he threw the sunshade of an old pram over his shoulder and knelt down to pick through a soggy cardboard box. Any second now Michael expected to see a nest of roaches or mice exploding from the mess David was sorting through, and the mental image of the spiky-haired blond flipping his shit made Michael burst into laughter.

Then, for just a second, he could almost  _swear_ he felt something hairy crawling on his shoulder, and the laughter quickly turned into a yelp as he tore off his jacket and threw it to the ground, stomping on-nothing. Just his jacket. "Sh…" he trailed off, trying to recover what little dignity he had when he noticed David had stopped digging through the box and was watching him now.

"You alright? Going crazy, Michael?"

Michael slowly knelt down to scoop up his jacket, which thankfully hadn't been damaged, "I'm good."

"Sure," David tossed him a bright red flashlight. "Batteries are pretty fresh, but give it a try."

"Don't you need one?" Michael raised an eyebrow, testing it out. "Surprised you don't have those oil drums all over the place."

David shrugged, "don't really need them. I've got a pocket light." He patted one of his coat pockets, climbing to his feet. "You ready?"

"You're sure this place is safe?"

"We've been here a long time," David walked ahead of him, leading Michael through a narrow passage, draped with a tattered curtain just barely hanging on the wall by a few delicate, wispy fibers. It sort of felt like he was stepping through the gates of hell, without the fire and demons bit. He couldn't see much beyond the back of David's coat, as narrow as the passage was, and soon it became so cramped that they had to crawl. Michael just barely managed to hold onto the flashlight. Why was he doing this again?

He couldn't smell Star's perfume anymore. Just earth, salt, and iron. His heart hammered in his chest, reminding him of the way he'd freaked out in the kitchen, and right now Michael almost believed Nanook really had bitten him. Funny how nightmares always seemed so much more real in the dark.

The enclosure was soon wide enough for them to walk standing up again, until David stopped at a somewhat steep drop-off built of earth and wooden scaffolding. Maybe the remnants of foundation, compacted enough by sheer luck for the pair to stand on. Michael looked around, flashing his light in the dark. Oddly enough, it didn't seem like he really needed the light, somehow he was easily picking up plenty of details in the dark. An old elevator grate was propped up against the wall in one area, while rusting pipes looked like they were drilled into the ceiling.

David watched Michael, a subtle smile playing on his lips, "this is the real clubhouse," he explained, "not even Star comes back here."

"It's, uh-" Michael tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, "I mean, I guess it's cool. Is this it?" He didn't know what he'd been expecting. Maybe something a little bit more impressive.

"Oh, there's more, I promise." He paused, growing suddenly serious. David's smile took on a more dangerous edge now, "this place is  _ours_. It's a secret. Last guy who found it isn't looking too hot anymore." He put a hand on Michael's shoulder, "we like you, Michael. So keep this to yourself, alright?"

Michael nodded, a little confused at the sudden intensity in David's eyes. He'd lowered his flashlight entirely now and hadn't even noticed, "yeah. Sure."

"Great. Ready for the rest of the tour?" David pulled back and took a step to the very edge of the earthen drop-off. For a second it looked like he was going to just fall, but he didn't. Somehow.

"Yeah, it's getting weird now, but sure," Michael said, and shrugged it off like another twisted fucking joke. He was getting used to David's sense of humor.

It was late. Yet, every time Michael thought about turning back as they made their way through yet another narrow passage seemingly carved into the wall or supported by a few fallen beams with sheer luck, his curiosity got the better of him. It seemed like laughter was bouncing off of the walls, filtering through earth and old plaster.

"I think the boys are back," David remarked, offering a hand down to Michael from a ledge he'd climbed over with almost no effort at all. Hardly even broke a sweat.

Michael grunted, putting a foot on the wall for leverage as he hoisted himself up beside David, "short party."

David shrugged, sitting down on the ledge, "short and sweet." He dug into a coat pocket to pull out his flask and a crumpled cigarette pack. Without giving it a second thought, Michael took a swig of the flask when it was offered, and accepted a lit cigarette from David's gloved fingers.

Then he belatedly realized what he'd done, and silently cursed himself. It was the same strange wine from before that he tasted on his lips, warming his tongue. Lulling him and calming his nerves. His heart wasn't racing anymore. Michael just shrugged it away and took a pull from his cigarette.

"Is it just one long party with you guys?" Michael asked, setting his flashlight down beside him, the beam flickering slightly as it knocked against the earth, casting itself across their enclosure and into the darkness.

"Nah," David shook his head, recapping the flask, "sometimes we sleep. Once a week we get a lecture from 'dad', too."

Michael raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"Foster father," David said, unconvincingly, "something like that. Keeps the cops off our asses. He's got a stiffy for the 'good guy' schtick. Thinks we're his family. Something like that."

"Dads are overrated," Michael replied, "mine's a dick."

"Can't say mine was much better," David mused, flicking ashes from the edge of his cigarette, "my  _real_  old man. Asshole ditched me at a bar."

Michael looked at him, "that sucks."

"I caught up with him later. Talked it over, had a bite to eat. Got over it."

A banging sound followed by a loud crash caught their attention, but it was sort of hard to figure out where it came from. Pretty much just whispering in this place made their voices bounce right back at them from all sides. A guy could go crazy here.

"Ten to one that was Paul," David said, rolling his eyes and snuffing his cigarette off on the ground. "Better go check on him."

They were halfway back to the lobby and crawling through the first cramped alcove before Michael realized he'd left the flashlight behind, but he didn't really need it. He could see just fine, despite the dark. Kind of weird, but not the weirdest thing that had happened to him that week. His drug trip trumped this.

When they'd finally reached their destination, they were greeted by the sight of Marko and Dwayne, wild-eyed and snickering at Paul lying in a heap on top of what used to be the canopy to Star's bed and a broken surfboard.

David gave four slow claps, approaching the bed, "nice going."

"What happened?" Michael asked, joining them, still trying to wrap his brain around exactly what could have led to this spectacularly bizarre position Paul found himself in.

Marko recovered from his laughter just enough to manage a few words, "he was trying to surf-" he looked at Michael, "-off the top of the canopy. Didn't work out."

Michael looked down at Paul with new eyes, "the canopy? Really?" This guy had to be the dumbass. Every group had one.

Now David was laughing, clapping Michael on the shoulder, "Paul's a genius."

"Fuck you," Paul grumbled, and at least nothing else looked broken besides the furniture.

Left to wallow with his broken surfboard, bed, and pride, it was a good few minutes before Paul joined them all in the center of the lobby, where David parked himself in his wheelchair, kicking back and pulling out his flask to toss it at Dwayne, who caught it smoothly from his position on the edge of the fountain beside Michael. He unscrewed the lid and sniffed at it cautiously, giving Michael even more reason to believe he'd probably just blindly stumbled into another drug trip.

An oddly intense look passed between Dwayne and David, and even Marko looked solemn as he reclined on the couch waiting for Paul to stumble off of the wreckage of his surfboard stunt and drop down beside him.

Dwayne finally smirked, taking a swig of the flask and re-capping it, before tossing it to Marko, who did the same and passed it to Paul in turn.

"Am I missing something?" Michael finally spoke up, but not entirely uncomfortable. He'd had a little of the wine already, after all, and he could already feel it hit him. Yeah, wine didn't do that.

"Nah," Marko assured him, keeping his feet stubbornly parked just under Paul's rear, refusing to make more room for him on the couch, "it's just a new blend. First time trying it. Thought David was gonna wait a couple more weeks to test it out."

Michael frowned, "so what, it's like toilet wine?"

"Something better," David promised, "a hell of a lot stronger, too."

* * *

Two pinpricks of light cutting into hazy black. That's all she could really see now, fading in and out of consciousness with the swaying pine tree air freshener.

"I want you to know that I'm very sorry for this. In all fairness, though, you shouldn't have tried to rob me. A man works very hard to make an honest living. Runs a business. Cares for his children. He shouldn't have to deal with troublemakers like you, should he? No. He doesn't."

She was so tired. So cold. Could feel her hot pink crop top sticking to her skin with the crusting blood. Her blood.

"I have sons like you, young lady. Very disrespectful. I find it's best to take a firm hand sometimes. They've been lying to me an awful lot lately."

There was a long stretch of silence. Or maybe she was just sleeping. Dreaming. Too hard to think.

"I'll be adopting a few new ones, soon. I'm getting married. I believe one of those boys is a liar, too. I saw him tonight, right before you tried to cheat me. He was supposed to be home in bed. It's hard to be upset at him for wanting to get to know the other boys so soon, but I'm sure you don't want to hear the whole story."

The light was blinking out now. She felt like she was floating. Then pain. It was all over now.

When Max buried the girl in her shallow grave, he couldn't help but smile as he gave the earth one last final pat, admiring yet another addition to his rose garden. "Thank you for listening. I feel much better now. Tomorrow's a new day."

* * *

"Okay, he's not gonna do anything to you, Sam. He woulda chomped you already if he had, right? He's Mike. He's still Mike. So yeah, he's got death breath and coke nails, but he's pretty much the same." Sam had been psyching himself up from the moment Michael came home that morning without a word, right up to about now, just an hour after his stupid brother snuck out  _again_ behind mom's back. It was like something had control over him.

The Frogs told him the whole city was infested, so he was sure Max had to be one. That's why they'd set up this whole plan for tonight-which was pointless, because mom canceled on her dorky date. He'd seen the guy. Hadn't talked to him, but he'd definitely caught a glimpse. So, if Max was one, was he the same bloodsucker who got to Mike? Or did his brother just have really bad luck?

There was something very comforting about stalking his bedroom wrapped in a sheet, with Nanook keeping his eyes trained on the door. Sam made sure not to turn his back on the window. The stake under his sheet was gripped so tight in his hand, he couldn't feel his fingers anymore. Hopefully mom and grandpa didn't notice the missing chair. He'd hide the evidence in his closet if it weren't for those stupid freaky animals parked there. Just a couple, but more than enough to give him extra nightmares when he wasn't paranoid Mike was going to sneak into his room for a midnight snack.

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when Nanook began barking. Then, between barks, he could swear he heard whispering. Didn't sound like Mike, mom, or grandpa. Oh crap, they'd come for him! His brother had gone full-on corpse, and they were coming for Sam next!

"Nanook, stop!" Sam hissed, biting back a whimper once he dove into bed and promptly wrapped a protective arm around his husky. Did vampires eat huskies? God, he hoped not. The fur would probably get in the way, so maybe they didn't.

The whispering stopped, and Nanook calmed down again, settling beside Sam with a gentle whine. So Sam spent the next five minutes looking between his bedroom door and his window with his stake at the ready, mumbling gibberish to himself about vampires and boogeymen. Somehow the dead animals in his closet didn't seem so scary anymore.

If he made it through to morning, Sam promised himself the first thing he'd do would be steal another chair and stockpile more stakes, and the second thing he'd do would be to throttle his brother for getting them in this mess in the first place.  _If_ he made it through. It was a big if.

* * *

They weren't far from the main beach, but nobody ever came out here. Not to this part. The stretch of sand curling just within reach of Hudson's bluff. All of them were high on the taste of David's blood. Even Michael, who's living heart still beat sluggishly in his chest. For the rest of them, that sound of his pulse beneath the echo of waves clawing at sand was enough to drive them all crazy. Lucky he was one of them. More or less. Even luckier that Dwayne, Paul, and Marko had dulled their edge of hunger earlier when they'd gorged on surf nazis and cheap, cold beer.

"Never gets old," David remarked, distant and relaxed. He'd shared his blood tonight. Not Max's. Dwayne watched their leader with a thoughtful eye, just long enough to catch a mischievous

half-smirk before he turned his attention to the others.

Marko was admiring several new trophies, torn scraps of fabric, patches he'd incorporate into his jacket later. They all had their collections. His was just more obvious.

"What are we gonna do?" Dwayne spoke up, reclining just out of reach of the surf.

"Tomorrow night?" Paul tacked on the obvious question. Max was going to find out. Drinking David's blood.  _Sharing_ it with Michael, and not the master vampire's own-he was going to be pissed. Not just pissed. It was an open challenge. Santa Carla didn't belong to Max anymore. Not for a long time. It belonged to them.


	3. Rough Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam makes a call. Star takes a bath. Lucy makes coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to muscle through the last section of this chapter today, but I managed to finish it just in time! Yay! Also, head colds and allergies suck.

Not once had he seen her touch her plate, or sip from her glass. Not once did those  _bright_ lips wrap themselves around a forkful of salad, nor did her smile seem quite so sweet as before. In fact, it looked downright hungry.

"You should eat something," her companion suggested, "the shrimp cocktail is getting warm."

Her laugh was honey on broken glass, while her teeth-yikes!

"My darling, I think I'll have to cut this short," she whispered, shoving the table aside as if it were made of rice paper.

"Don't you want some DESSERT?" Her companion demanded, jumping to his feet and pulling open the powder blue jacket of his leisure suit to reveal a string of garlic about his neck. In one swift motion he tore a bulb free and shoved it in her mouth with a triumphant laugh. Then she was gagging, smoking, and stumbling towards the large curtained window. Too late she realized it was the early morning and he reached for the curtain chord to seal her fate.

"You think garlic really works like that?" Alan asked, shoving a handful of greasy popcorn into his mouth while Edgar hastily scrawled notes in his Masters of the Universe notebook. The words 'garlic', 'bats', and 'Shalimar' were circled and underlined several times. He hardly paid attention to his brother's sloppy eating while the credits rolled on the television screen in front of them.

"That's what all the sources indicate," Edgar finally replied, satisfied with his current list and ready to move on to the next, "garlic, crosses, holy water, sunlight. Not sure about the perfume though. What's up next?"

Alan wiped his fingers off on his camo tank, reaching towards the coffee table to snatch up one of their many well-used rentals and squinting at the side to read the title, "Bloodsucking Brainiacs from Brazil."

"Subtitles?" Ed asked, frowning. He was always frowning.

"Dubbed."

"Pop it in."

These late night cram sessions helped the Frogs hone their techniques. Each new movie or comic they poured through was one more weapon to use against the creatures of the night. It also helped them keep the late hours they'd need to in the future when their business really took off. It would, too. Any day now.

Halfway between the dancing Dracula number, at exactly 12:35, the phone rang. Alan started choking on a fistful of buttered popcorn. The dog in their backyard started gripped his costume jewelry crucifix necklace, and answered the phone.

"You got the Frogs," Edgar ground out, using his well-practiced tone of authority and raw masculinity. Just like Rambo.

" _Hello?! Edgar?"_ It was Sam, in a panicked whisper from what Edgar could gather.

"Bloodsucking Brother try to take a bite out of you again?" He asked, patting Alan on the back half-heartedly as he finally managed to dislodge the popcorn kernels from his throat with a few swigs of RC Cola.

" _No, there's someone in my house! It's not Mike, cause I know his footsteps. Grandpa went out and my mom's asleep."_

"Maybe vampires walk different," Ed suggested. "Or he's just trying to trick you. Got your stake ready yet? We can pro-rate this advice call if you need us to walk you through-"

"Ed, I'm not killing my brother!" Sam shouted, his whispered fears almost forgotten.

"Okay, so did you get any garlic or non-lethal supplies?" Edgar relented, just as his brother scrambled towards him to shove his face up close in order to share the receiver. They really needed another phone.

"I got garlic. I could tie some pencils together for a cross-"

"Are they sharp?" Alan butted in, covering his mouth for a moment to hold back a cough directly in Edgar's face. "Those could work."

There was silence on the other end, followed by muffled static and a couple of ominous thumps.

"Sam?" Edgar asked, frowning, "Mister Phoenix, you still alive?" Just their luck if their first real client ended up with his throat ripped out and bleeding all over his comic collection. They were just starting to like this guy.

The minute and a half that followed was painful. Endless. "Alan, get off!" Edgar shoved his brother away, rubbing at his neck that he'd been forced to awkwardly angle in order to give Alan some space by the phone.

"Guys!" Sam shouted, which made Edgar's heart leap into his throat.

"You're alive!" He snapped back, and Alan was at his side once more, pressing even closer to Edgar's cheek to hear.

"It's not Mike in there, it's a kid and this girl who blew him off a few days ago. They're just sitting there on his bed whispering! You think they're  _vampires_?" Sam was talking faster and faster, his voice jumping up at least an octave on the last word.

"Probably," Alan replied, offering no helpful advice to follow it up with.

"What do I do? I don't think they saw me, but wouldn't they have like-I mean, wouldn't they already be trying to stick krazy straws in my neck and going to town?" He was slowing down now, but sounded just as distressed, if not confused on top of everything else.

"You can never tell with bloodsuckers," Alan informed him, pulling away from the phone just enough to look at his brother and exchange a wise, knowing look.

Edgar lowered the crucifix at his neck, launching into one of his many prepared speeches, "one minute they're your friends, or your family, or some homeless guy on the street corner with a fake tan begging for change. The next thing you know, the cops find your body under a beach shower stall. Seagulls picking at your eye sockets. Ants swarming your-"

"I get it," Sam interrupted him, "thanks, guys. I'm glad I called." Somehow he didn't sound like he meant it. "Now  _what do I do?!_ "

Doing some quick mental math, Edgar tossed his notebook onto the cluttered coffee table in front of them. "This'll cost you extra, but since we're on-call, we can be over in about an hour. Think you can hold the fort until then?"

"Do I have a choice? Sam asked, lowering his voice once more, " _I'll figure something out if they try to come into my room, but I need you guys to get here fast!_ "

"Trust us," Alan stated firmly, yanking the phone away from Edgar, "we're professionals. We know what we're doing."

* * *

There was something to be said for a warm meal on the table every night, breakfast bright and early with a time-worn smile, sharing his days with the only person in the world who knew him better than he knew himself. Then again, after his wife had passed and her side of the bed grew achingly cold, there was also something to be said for the widow Johnson's hellcat sheet scratching to keep him occupied. Grandpa Emerson adjusted his rearview mirror with a secretive smile, reminding himself to thank Sam for that aftershave idea. She  _loved_ it.

The old man took a gulp of his root beer and whiskey, enjoying the peace and quiet of his beat-up jeep. Probably would've spent a good hour relaxing there before bed, if it weren't for what happened next.

Two scruffy-looking boys about Sam's age appeared on his front lawn, dropping their bicycles in the flower beds before scrambling up towards the front porch. Grandpa Emerson frowned, his mood immediately souring. He didn't like guests and he sure as shit didn't like unexpected guests screwing up his yard.

What were those boys up to? The old man exchanged a look with his dashboard hula squirrel, who looked decidedly vicious despite her miniature grass skirt and lei.

" _Rules._ What's the point in makin' them if nobody listens?" He grumbled, licking his lips and gulping down the rest of his root beer and whiskey. Grandpa Emerson stifled a burp and pushed open his driver's side door, contemplating whether he'd need to grab the deer rifle from his cab. He pressed his lips together and let out a short chuckle at the idea before he walked around to the back of the jeep and grabbed a good old dented 9 iron instead. Didn't wanna wake Lucy.

* * *

Star tilted her head back into the tepid bathwater, letting the tail ends of her curls float around her collarbone like a necklace of black seaweed. It was nice to have a  _real_  bath. The scent of perfumed soaps was almost too much to bear, but it was a welcome distraction from her aching hunger.

She settled further into the water, closing her eyes and letting herself float away into a half-dream. For a moment or two. Laddie was safe. They had enough left in the wine bottle to last them three, maybe four more days. As long as they were careful. She would tell Michael tonight. About everything. Except-

Star opened her eyes, looking towards the fogged mirror by the sink and worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. They felt just a little sharper than they should. Which meant she'd need to drink tonight. Michael would have a few days until the hunger was as bad as hers or Laddie's, she wasn't sure she could afford to share the bottle with him too. Maybe, if they were lucky, they could figure out a way to end this before it came to that.

After what happened that morning between them, she didn't expect him to welcome her with open arms, but what other choice did she have?

_**SPLASH!** _

"What in the-Sam!"

"Grandpa!"

"That's not the vampire, is it?"

"Shut up, Ed!"

Jerking up, Star hastily reached for the towel she'd set beside the bathtub, doing her best to scramble out of the water as quickly as possible before-

_**SLAM!** _

"I've got garlic in my damned eyes!" A grizzled old man rubbing at his face with one free hand while he drug a golfing club behind him in the other kicked open the bathroom door, cussing up a storm.

Star shrieked, wrapping the towel about her as three teenage boys ran in after him.

"Gramps, we thought you were someone else-" Whatever the blonde, more panic-stricken of the three boys was going to say died on his lips when he noticed Star standing there, dripping and reaching for a bottle of lotion on the bathtub lip to defend herself. Against what, she didn't know.

The old man had managed to blink the water from his eyes and wipe away several papery thin skins of garlic from his face with a hand towel on the sink just as Star had begun to shriek, and he quickly waved a threatening club at the boys to lead them from the bathroom, looking back at her with a scowl before shutting the door behind him. The last thing she heard as he left was a mumbled threat at his grandson.

"Dad, what's going on?" A sleepy feminine voice called from outside the bathroom door.

"Get some coffee ready, it's gonna be a long night."

* * *

"Somehow," Lucy began, lifting her coffee cup gingerly to her lips and blowing at the steam to cool it before taking a small sip, "I thought moving to the beach would make life easier." She was too tired to be upset right now, but just awake enough to appreciate the humor. At least Sam was making friends.

"So why don't we start with you two?" She directed her attention to the girl and what she could only assume was her little brother, "I take it you're Michael's friend." Lucy directed her question at the girl, who was currently wearing one of Lucy's bathrobes.

"I-" The girl kept her eyes focused on the table, having refused any coffee, "I needed to get away from my family. Michael's the only other person we know here. I didn't know what to do."

"Breaking and entering," Grandpa Emerson grumbled, "ever hear of knocking?"

"I'm sorry," Star whispered, "we can leave-"

"-Was Michael here when you came in?" Lucy inquired, cutting her off. Clearly the girl was in trouble, and Lucy wasn't about to press charges on a couple of kids. She'd see if she could make inquiries about their parents tomorrow, but right now her missing son was a bit more concerning.

Star's eyes darted back up to Lucy's face, hesitating only for an instant, half of a second, "he went for a walk. He couldn't sleep."

Lucy wanted to believe that was true, and it made sense. If Michael had been going on walks or late night rides these last few days just because he couldn't sleep, it was at least a simple answer. Somehow a part of her didn't think Star was telling her everything, but they'd figure out the whole story soon enough.

"Dad, do you still have that extra cot?" Lucy directed her attention to her father, who smelled absolutely terrible right now. Like windex and garlic, if that was even possible. He really did need to improve his bathing habits.

"Yeah," he replied, "guess we can make some room for a couple days." He didn't sound too pleased with the idea, and Lucy couldn't blame him, but it was the only solution they had at the moment.

"Now that we've gotten that taken care of, Sam, I'd like an explanation." She took another sip of her coffee, eyeing the two boys sitting on either side of her youngest. They certainly didn't look like they were prepared for a covert sleepover.

"Mom, I'm not going to lie to you." Same took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to stall for more time, "Ed and Alan have water guns under the table filled with holy water aimed at those two over there," he indicated Star and her little brother, "they're probably bloodsuckers. So's Mike. We need to come up with a plan to-"

"-put you on some damn crazy pills." Grandpa Emerson interrupted, "Lucy, these boys were just having themselves a slumber party and their pranks went a little too far."

"Grandpa, I'm not crazy! It wasn't a slumber party!" Sam protested, standing up and slamming his hands on the table, only to sit down immediately at the stern looks both Lucy and her father directed at him with the full and powerful force of adult disapproval.

"I don't mind if you have friends over, but we're guests here, and I'm sure your grandpa didn't appreciate whatever you did to him. As for you two," she looked back and forth between the boys, "it's too late for you to go home on your own, so I'll drive you, but I'd like to have a little talk with your parents."

"If you don't stake these two now, it's your funeral," one of the boys warned, sweeping back his shoulder length hair, "no offense," he added, belatedly realizing he was talking to Sam's mom.

"Excuse me?" Lucy asked in a soft, weary voice.

"He didn't mean anything, mom," Sam quickly interrupted, "we just read too many comics is all. Maybe we got carried away."

"Maybe?" She repeated, hardly believing what she was hearing, "Sam, we'll talk more about this later. You and your friends can go wait in the car." She looked back at her father, "dad, can you help them set up the cot?"

The old man nodded, eyeing Star and the little boy, "I'll keep my eye on em both."

"If Michael gets home before I do, just tell him to wait in the kitchen," she directed, taking another sip of coffee. She needed all the caffeine she could get. And a lifetime supply of valium when this mess was dealt with.


	4. No More Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael's denial doesn't make it through the night if Grandpa can help it. Sam's plans to listen to the radio are thwarted by Lucy's 'mom talk'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got this bit done way earlier than expected, but also had to leave work early due to being sick (bleh). So the day wasn't a total loss.

 

"Sure you don't wanna stay a couple more hours?" Marko asked, "hang around with us?" He threw an unopened beer bottle towards Paul, who reached out to grab it before being intercepted by Dwayne.

"Night's still young, Mikey," Paul teased, punching Dwayne in the shoulder and receiving a shove in response. He barely recovered in time to avoid falling off the edge of the dock.

It was tempting to just stay there until sunrise with them, but he'd already given his mom enough trouble this week. Now that the pleasant humming in the back of his head had faded into a soft murmur, Michael was confident he'd sobered up enough to head home. Any longer and he'd probably have to pass out on the couch or bed in that hotel.

David, who was sitting beside Michael at the edge of the dock, held his cigarette butt out in front of him and let it fall into the water. As much as the guy smoked, if this was a regular hangout then they'd probably fostered countless schools of nicotine addicted fish.

"Family's a funny thing," David remarked, as if he could read Michael's mind. "Not big on the word myself." It wasn't a surprise, given what he'd said about his dad.

"They're not that bad," Michael replied, watching the black water beneath them lick at the front legs of the dock. "My brother might be going a little nuts, but…" he trailed off. How did you casually broach the subject that your fourteen-year-old little brother still believed in monsters? "He's probably just staying up too late reading comics."

"What's wrong with him?" Paul butted in, "seeing Batman in the mirror?"

"Something like that," Michael shrugged it off. Everything from that night had been so vivid, he still had trouble believing most of it didn't happen. "Hey, you guys haven't followed me home or anything, have you?"

It was hard to shake the image in his mind of their headlights flashing through the kitchen windows while they screamed wildly at him, a mixture between a taunt and an invitation. Or Sam standing behind him, shouting his head off. Sooner or later they'd have to have a talk about what really happened.

Marko snickered, "yeah, sure. Had to make sure you didn't drive off the cliff. You were pretty out of it at the bridge."

"High as a kite," Dwayne agreed, sharing one of his rare as Paul tried to go for his beer bottle again and just missed it when Dwayne raised it above his head and dumped it over Paul's lap.

"Fucker!" Paul shouted as he scrambled to his feet to try to shake as much as he could from his pants before it set in.

"Have an accident, Paul?" David inquired casually, though Michael had an inkling there was something more behind the teasing. A warning?

Paul glared at Dwayne for a very long and tense moment, while Marko inched a little closer to the blonde rocker from his perch on the dock. Then it was over, and Paul was sitting down again mumbling under his breath, not avoiding Dwayne's eyes at all, but David's. Michael was almost disappointed. Something told him it would've been fun to watch.

"I guess I should head home," Michael was the first to break the silence. He really wanted to stick around a little longer, but the clock was ticking.

"You gonna join us tomorrow? We were thinking about crashing a party. There's gonna be a big one out in the sticks. Nobody to hear for miles, so they're gonna play the music as loud as we want." David nudged Michael's shoulder again, getting his full attention.

"Tempting," Michael admitted, "but I think my mom wants me to stay at the house for a couple of days. Maybe another time." He had to force himself to turn down the invitation. Staying at grandpa's house was going to drive him crazy, but Michael knew he could only get away with sneaking out so many times. The heart-to-heart Lucy had tried to share with him that afternoon was at least enough of a guilt trip for him to skip  _one_ party. Seemed like they were always going to them anyway.

David locked eyes with Michael, "it's summertime, Michael. Most of the fun dries up when tourist season ends. Come on, one party isn't going to kill ya. You look like you could use the distraction."

"That obvious?" Michael smirked, closing his eyes to enjoy just a few more minutes of roaring waves and sun-baked breezes cooling his skin. In all honesty, he felt a hell of a lot better now about his Star problem than he'd expected he would. That didn't mean he wasn't planning to spend another day moping if he could help it.

"You'll get over her."

The ride home seemed to take hours. Even though it was less than maybe fifteen or so miles from the boardwalk, each minute stretching into the next left him feeling more and more hollowed out. Alone. Once or twice he even thought about turning back, and right before he pulled into the driveway, Michael almost did. The lights in the kitchen were on. Somehow he doubted he was going to be able to sneak into his room before anyone noticed after all.

Great. Who was going to give him a lecture now? Mom again? Grandpa? Sam? A part of him knew he probably had it coming, but he just wanted to be left alone. Just his luck that he hadn't taken a house key with him and the only open door he could find (after thoroughly checking the back and the side of the house) was the one leading him into the lion's den.

Even though it was pitch black outside, he dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out his shades, easier to avoid looking at whoever was about to give him shit. The last of his fading buzz from the weed and wine was already souring.

He tried his best to open the door without a sound, but pretty hard to do when the hinges hadn't been changed or fucking oiled in at least twenty years.

"Kitchen." Grandpa called out, not shouting, but not happy either.

"Sure." Michael replied dryly, ambling towards the kitchen doorway. "Something wrong, gramps?" He peered towards the dining table, a little taken aback at what he saw. Not just a pissy old man with a bottle of root beer, but  _Star_.

"Guess that slackjaw means she wasn't invited, huh?" Grandpa asked him, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. "Take a seat, Michael. Come on, nobody's gonna bite."

Was it too late to get back on his bike?

Closing his mouth, he lowered his shades just enough to give Star a confused, angry scowl, before re-adjusting them and making it a point to pull the chair at the end of the table as close to the doorway as he could manage before he sat down.

All that was missing in the next few silent minutes was a pair of six-shooters and a clock tower. Nobody wanted to be the first one to talk, but eventually, Michael cracked, " _What?_  What did I do?"

"Good question." Grandpa leaned forward in his chair, unphased by Michael's gesture of sitting as far away from them as possible, and more than a little pleased he'd been the winner of the first stand-off of the night, "ya got any answers?"

It was  _tempting_ to cross his arms and act like a kid right now, but it was also sort of tempting to punch the old man in the face, which immediately sobered him up. That was something his dad would do,  _not_ him. Michael hesitated, halfway caught between irritation and shame. He reminded himself part of it was probably just anger that the chick who'd humped and dumped him was sitting right across the room like nothing had happened. Why was she  _here_? How did she even know where he lived?

"Your mom'll be back soon, so I'd make the story short and sweet, Michael," the old man warned.

"Back? Where'd she go?" He didn't know exactly why, but when he heard himself speaking, his tone almost sounded menacing. Like a caged animal waiting for some stupid kid to crawl through the bars. He couldn't help himself, it was a struggle to hold back his bad mood now.

"Took Sam's little friends home. Looks like you're not the only one with a story tonight, but we'll get to that when your mom and brother get back. Where've you been, Michael?"

"I went for a ride and hung out with some guys, that's about it," he replied, leaving out the minor details like the pot, the funny wine, and his sudden inclination to join them for that party tomorrow night after all.

"Makes sense," the old man scratched his chin, looking over at Star, "how about you, girly? That how this all started with you too? Going for a ride, tagging along with 'some guys'?"

Star re-adjusted what looked like Lucy's bathrobe, fiddling with the ends of one of the wrapped chords to avoid meeting anyone's eyes. That distant victim act was getting on Michael's nerves. Because that's all it was, really, just an act. He hadn't even noticed he was digging his nails into one of his legs while he watched her, very nearly tearing through the denim.

"Yeah." Star threw her head back, pushing her slightly dampened hair over her shoulder and finally looking back at Michael, meeting his eyes for the first time since- _shit,_ he still had it bad for her. "That's how it started."

"Am I missing something?" Michael demanded, going on the defensive, "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Well sure you didn't. Neither of you did. Neither did kid upstairs." She'd brought Laddie with her? Well, that made sense. "Doesn't mean you ain't a couple of idiots, the pair of you."

Michael's eyebrows shot up, "she can't be pregnant. It hasn't even been two days yet."

"What?!" Star blurted out, somehow managing not to turn beet red as she gave Michael a disbelieving look, "I'm not!"

That, was of course, when the old man really started to was even more irritating. "I don't care how it happened. Dancing in the buck to some cockamamie surfboard alter, striking a deal with a pervert in a red dress robe, drinking something funny, but it ends here. Who did it to you, Michael?"

"What the fu-"

"David," Star cut him off. "David did it. He gave us his blood, and we drank it, and now I don't know what to do." Her voice was cracking, and frankly, Michael was wondering if her sanity hadn't too.

Grandpa Emerson focused his attention on Star, settling back in his chair as he took a gulp of root beer. "Alright, we got a name. You know where they sleep? Course you do. Almost one of them, ain'tcha? So you came here. Running away? That's not too smart, girly. Not gonna solve any-Michael, will you stop  _growling_? You sound like that damn dog upstairs."

"I wasn't-I didn't-" Michael straightened up, a little embarrassed. Was that really him? Christ, maybe Sam and Star weren't crazy. His eyes darted towards the nearest kitchen window above the sink, searching for any sign of roving headlights or screaming teenagers. Or even just his mom walking towards the porch. There was nothing, besides the lacy curtains.  _Nothing._ He saw the reflection of the chair he was sitting on, and even the door of the fridge. The beam of the kitchen light overhead. "Shit!" He scrambled off of his chair and back towards the doorway. This wasn't happening. Not again. It wasn't real. It was the-

"Blood," Star repeated, looking back over at Michael, like she could read his thoughts. She looked just as lost as he was, heartbroken even, "I  _told_  you it was blood."

* * *

"Oh, this one's good!" Sam exclaimed, reaching for the volume knob on the radio before Lucy slapped his hand away and immediately turning the radio off.

"Roy Orbison's not going to save you, Samuel Emerson," Lucy scolded him, "do you have any idea how dangerous it is for two kids riding their bikes this late at night? What if your grandpa had a  _gun_ when they attacked him?"

"They didn't attack him, they just threw a bucket of garlic water-" Sam cut himself off. "It was an accident."

"Explain to me in  _detail_ how that could have been an accident!"

He threw his head back, "you never listen to me!"

"And I wonder why that is. Maybe it has something to do with you trying to give your grandpa pneumonia and garlic halitosis?"

"We didn't pour it in his mouth…"

"Sam!"

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. Can Ed and Alan come over for dinner with us tomorrow?" He clumsily tried to change the subject, latching on to their one hope that his mom's boyfriend was the head vampire responsible for this whole nightmare, and the second they spiked his noodles with garlic he'd melt, or burst into flames, or whatever it was that bloodsuckers did, and everything would go back to normal. That had to at least nyx the summer-long grounding his mom had just sentenced him to the second they dropped Ed and Alan off at their house.

"Do you think I'm running a halfway house? No, Sam. Frankly, I don't know if I want you hanging out with those two at all. We'll talk about this tomorrow. We both need to get some sleep because I've got work in about six hours and  _you've_ got a garage and workshop to help your grandpa clean."

"What?! The place with all the dead crap?! That's not fair!" He uncrossed his arms.

"Don't worry, your brother's going to help you. After that, it's up to your grandpa to decide if he wants you to take care of the lawn, too. It's the least you can do after the heart attack you nearly gave him."

If they could even get him to wake up.  _Mike, you shit-sucking asshole_.

At least once mom saw Max for what he was, this would all be over. The other vampires in the house hadn't gone on the attack either, so maybe they were only half. It didn't seem likely that the girl was really terrified of Alan and Ed's water pistols. Could they even 'shoot' that far across the table? He'd hate to think they were just as lost as he was right now and had almost no idea what they were doing. Sam forced himself to dismiss that very real and believable possibility. Because he just couldn't right now. He couldn't.

When they got home, Mike was laying on the couch in the living room, 'sleeping'. Sam had an inkling he was just faking it.

Grandpa was still in the kitchen, draining the last dregs of his bottle of root beer, and god only knew where the bloodsuckers they  _weren't_  related to went.

"Dad?" Lucy whispered, walking into the kitchen looking bewildered, but for some reason deciding not to wake her eldest despite the fact that he really was the reason Sam was in trouble and grandpa smelled like old pizza now.

"I sent them to bed, Lucy. Had a good talk. The girl and her little brother will be staying in his room. Family trouble. Give him a couple of days and he'll be fine. You get some rest and I'll tell you everything in the morning. It's gonna be okay."

Sam scowled, looking back towards the stairs. He was going to have to glue his window shut before he went to bed, and probably draw crosses on his door just to get some sleep. Maybe that's what he'd do tomorrow, just draw crosses all over the place. Except then mom would  _definitely_ make him go to a doctor, and right now he couldn't afford for her to find out about his plans for her dark lord and boyfriend.

Lucy rubbed at her temples, leaning her free arm against the back of her father's chair, "alright. Alright. Sam, go to bed. I think we all just need some sleep right now."

"Mom-"

"Sam." The old man said his name, calm, clear, and leaving no room for arguing. It sucked saving your family from evil forces when you couldn't get a word in edgewise.


	5. Headaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael has trouble sleeping. Sam has trouble talking to grandpa. Max joins the family for supper and the boys play head games outside.

" _Not worried about us, boy. I know you'll fight it. Worried about everyone out there."_

Grandpa's words were echoing in his head, ringing in his ears despite the fact that he'd covered his face with one of the couch cushions. Michael couldn't block it out. It was almost morning, and after all this, he wasn't even sure he'd be able to fall asleep now.

" _Gonna have a nice talk with Sam, too. See if we can figure something out. Keep your mom in the dark if we can. You just focus on staying in here with your girly and her ankle biter upstairs. Don't want you going sour and eating the neighbours. Yeah, we've got a few here and there."_

The last week in Santa Carla was on replay in his mind. The trick with the rice, and the wine, and Star, and David.  _Jesus Christ_ , he'd come close to attacking Sam in the fucking bathtub! How did grandpa know he wouldn't try it again? He really hoped his little brother was at least smart enough to keep Nanook close.

" _You take out the leader, you're cured. All of you, so long as you don't literally rip anyone's head off. Think you can manage that?"_

This would all be so much easier if it just turned out batshit crazy ran in the family. Little voices in his head he could deal with, sure. Maybe even the occasional tea party with the stuffed rats in grandpa's closet.

Michael reached for the earring still dangling from his earlobe as he tore the couch cushion away from his face. He should just chuck the thing out the window and try to forget about all of this. Burn his jacket. Hide his bike in the garage. Move to Canada.

"Michael?" Star's voice called out through the darkness of the living room. He peered at her silhouette near the stairs. Could just barely see her eyes in the shadows. "I-I don't want to be alone tonight-" She paused, "today."

He remained still, watching her. She'd changed back into her regular clothes now, and the lights behind her in the starwell bounced off the spangles in her skirt. The scent of her perfume had faded, clinging only in spirit now to something he could define now. Warm, intoxicating death.

"You  _knew,_ " Michael whispered, remaining still on the couch.

She lowered her head just a fraction of an inch. "I didn't want you to drink it. I told you-"

"You  _told_ me? Why'd you even let me follow you, Star?"

The spell of her shaded eyes and twinkling skirt seemed to have faded, if only a little. Her silence stretching into the darkness a painful reminder of his lonely ride home after the one night they'd spent together.

"You were supposed to be my first," She crossed her arms, holding to the only anchor she seemed to have now that it was clear he wasn't going to keep her company.

"What?" She must be joking if she thought he'd believe that.

"I was supposed to kill you. On the boardwalk. Then David brought you with us and-" she tilted her head a little lower, as if just mentioning his name made her want to curl into a ball and hide. "I didn't. I couldn't."

"Go to bed, Star," Michael told her, rolling over on the couch until his face and the pain written on it were safely hidden from her. Until he could swear he  _felt_ her leave. He just knew when she was gone, and he was left alone again with his thoughts.

So it was all a game. A stupid fucking joke. And to those assholes at the hotel, he was just a meal. Maybe tomorrow they'd even planned to stick an apple in his mouth, too. Bitterness and hurt mingled together in his mind for what remained of the short night. Yet at the end of it all, when the sun rose, he was dead asleep.

* * *

A rusty trolley packed with toolboxes and weird crates of glass eyeballs, rolls of wire, tiny bones and rows of fake teeth. It was like a dentist's office, a morgue, a bait shop, and a hardware department all rolled into one. Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust when his grandpa flipped on the light switch.

"What's this thing? You eating nuts out here, gramps?" He picked up a funny-looking nutcracker with a spring in the middle of it. He'd never seen one like it.

"It's an ear opener," the old man replied, snorting at Sam's horrified reaction. "Helps you really get in there and split open-you're lookin' a little pale there, think you can handle this? Need a strong stomach for this kinda work."

"I'm not stuffing anything, I'm just cleaning!" Sam protested, holding the ear opener by the very end of the handle now as if it were just like one of the weird dead things his grandpa used it for.

"Yeah, well you just set that down there and get yourself a broom. Got a long day ahead of you. Gonna have to use it to poke your brother every other damn minute and make sure he's not sleeping on the job." He lumbered towards his work bench, waving vaguely at the trolley Sam was placing the ear openers back down on.

Grandpa cleared his throat, digging a pinky into his ear to scratch at it, "I'll just sit here working on some finishing touches for my little friend," he indicated a very furry wild cat of some kind, which stood on the edge of its claws in a permanent state of terror. The cat's tail curved to its side while its head was turned just so for one glass eye to stare widely back at Sam as if to say  _he_  was next if he wasn't careful.

"So," Sam looked around, not really sure  _where_  he was going to find a broom. He was a little shocked grandpa even had one. Didn't strike him as the kind of guy to sweep or clean anything. Except maybe the car he kept perfectly waxed and permanently locked in the garage where teenage fingerprints couldn't violate it.

"So?" The old man asked, examining a fine-bristled brush up close and smoothing out the edges. "Guess you wanna talk about something?"

"Well, I mean, last night. With my friends, and mom, and Mike…" He trailed off, unsure how to start this. With a lie? A story? Some sort of distraction? Grandpa already knew about the dog attack when mom and him went to go take flowers to her boss's place. So maybe he should start with hell hounds. Because where did he even begin with the Frog brothers?

It didn't take much helpless stammering from Sam for his grandpa to give him a somewhat exasperated look, "your friends thought I was a vampire. They improvised with garlic soup. Makes sense. Maybe next time they should hold a mirror around the corner before they pull a stunt like that again." He tenderly, patiently began to brush and examine his scared-stiff wildcat, "can't say it'll do your brother much good knowing he's almost one of em unless you know how it happened though, huh? Now get a damn broom and wake Michael up. Ain't got all damn day."

Sam's face must've spoke volumes, but his grandpa didn't look up from the task at hand to see it. "You knew?" He asked, "you knew vampires were real and you let mom think we were nuts?"

In response, the old man just shrugged, waving him off. That was all he'd get from him for now, which was even more frustrating than just thinking his grandpa was a little insane. That meant he knew those other two in the house were probably just like Michael now, and any minute they could just stroll downstairs to dine on the whole Emerson clan. How in the hell could he just sit there brushing a dead cat?!

This was just too much. Why couldn't they have just stayed in Phoenix? At least they had a tv there. The worst thing he had to deal with in Arizona were a couple of pissy football players, and they were Mike's friends. Not like they could do anything to him. And even though his brother promised not to eat him, it was sort of hard to believe that was 100% given he'd all but tried to stick a straw in Sam's neck the night before last.

"Sam," grandpa cleared his throat, setting his brush aside and peering back up at him, "can't say I'm too happy with you two right now, but we'll fix this. As long as you get a god damned broom right now, I promise everything's gonna be okay."

It was no easy feat dragging his brother from the living room couch, and it took well over twenty minutes for Sam to track down the holy grail - the broom - which only meant he had to wake Michael up all over again when he came back into the kitchen to find his brother had fallen asleep sitting up at the table with an untouched glass of orange juice in his hand.

"Miiiike," Sam poked his living dead (well, almost living dead) brother in the shoulder with the end of his broom. "You gotta stay awake! I can't clean that Texas Chainsaw workshop alone!" He felt stupid even thinking it, but right now Sam's greater fear between vampires and sunset were in fact the hordes of stuffed and staring critters his grandpa probably planned to pack his bedroom with this summer.

"Hey, Mike," Sam repeated, sitting down at the table beside him and propping the broom up against the table, reaching for the glass of orange juice and gingerly moving it aside so it didn't get knocked over. "Grandpa says he knew about this. Maybe we can fix you!"

Michael opened his eyes, lowering his head to the table and settling his forehead over his crossed arms with a groan, "yeah," he mumbled, "told me last night."

"What?" Sam yelped, "you could've told me!"

"Sam," Michael remained still, unwilling to even tilt his head back to look at him, "shhh."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam asked, "you're shushing me? I'm trying to save you from eating people, and you're shushing me?" He grabbed the broom and poked Michael in the shoulder a couple more times, "you. Wake. Up. Help. Me. Clean. With. Texas. Chainsaw.  _Grandpa!_ "

In an instant, Michael was on his feet, grabbing at the broom handle and yanking it from Sam's grasp like it was nothing. It flew across the kitchen and smacked into the wall, and Sam could swear he almost heard the handle crack. His eyes widened when he saw his brother staring down at him with a dark, angry look on his face.

"Mike-" Sam was cut off when Michael pressed a hand to his face and shoved him away with enough force to make him trip over his own feet. He gave a bit of a squeak, catching himself with one of the kitchen chairs, just as Michael sat back down and settled back to sleep. It was then that Sam elected everything would be for the best if he just left his brother alone for another hour or so until he was done sweeping grandpa's workshop.

* * *

"You think he knows?" Dwayne asked, trailing David through brush and knee-length grass, followed by Paul and Marko, the four of them like midnight ghosts slipping through scraps of dancing moonlight. Their bikes were parked safely in the grass, hidden for the time being from any curious passersby. Not that there'd be any out here this late if they knew what was good for them.

"Max?" David scoffed, "probably still pissy about the lamp you broke." The head vampire was too single-minded, too obsessive right now to notice little details. Like the scent of David's blood on Michael when he saw them together on the boardwalk. Or the fact that Star and Laddie had been missing for two days now. All Max probably cared about was the fucked-up dinner plans.

Almost giddy with excitement, which was a feat for an immortal monster, Marko hopped onto Paul's back and gave his hair a tug, "we really going to that party tonight?" He crowed, just as Paul playfully shoved him off and pulled Marko into a loose headlock while they continued to drift through the grass.

David grinned, "sure. I think I'm getting kind of hungry." He wasn't the only one, either. David could feel it, even in his sleep, miles away from him.  _Michael._

The word became a chant, whispered among them to draw him out. He was late to the boardwalk tonight, so they'd decided to come play fetch. It wasn't at all surprising to scent Star and Laddie on the wind either, but maybe they'd be a nice distraction for Max. This was almost  _too_  perfect.

* * *

"So you both talked to your parents today?" Lucy asked doubtfully, her eyes flicking over Star and Laddie at the kitchen table while the pair folded paper towels together like they were both members of the fucking Brady Bunch. Ever since he'd woken up Michael had been watching them, trying to figure out what to say, or what to do. Sam had some big plan to scare mom's date off, because somehow the fact that the asshole had an insane dog meant he must be a vampire. Michael had never even met the guy and his little brother was making insane mental gymnastics an army of nutcases would envy. Grandpa was in his workshop scraping something off an old hide mumbling about giant stakes and car insurance. This was just too much to process.

So here he was, standing in the kitchen doorway watching them. Watching his brother huddled in the corner keeping his back to mom chopping up a mountain of garlic and doing his best to cover the evidence of whatever batshit plan he had under his rolled-up polyester sleeves.

"Yeah,  _our aunt_ -she had a heart attack, and the car wasn't big enough for a family trip," Star explained. At least she'd come up with a good lie. Seemed like it came natural. A part of him felt a little guilty for thinking it, whenever he looked at her pained expression, or felt those eyes studying him just as intensely as he studied hers. They were in the same boat. The only difference was she could've at least handed him a lifejacket before she dragged him into it with her.

"You poor things," Lucy sighed, "Michael, honey, can you help me drain the pasta?" Lucy slipped on a pair of olive green oven mitts as she braced the large pot on the stove. "I wish you'd have woken me up and told me everything in the first place," she admonished gently, while Michael strode over to help her with the pasta. He had to force himself to tear his eyes from Star, and it was a struggle not to roll his eyes at every word she said.

"We didn't have anyone else to call. We're really sorry about this, but we won't be here long." Star explained, her eyes drilling holes into the back of Michael's skull while he held a colander steady in the sink for his mom. "I'm  _sorry,_ " Star repeated, obviously directing it at him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sam pocketing something in the pocket of the apron he'd tied to himself. It looked like a walkie talkie. Whatever he had in mind, somehow Michael seriously doubted it was going to fix their problems. Michael was falling, and he didn't have anything to hold onto. He couldn't even say he didn't recognize himself in the mirror anymore, either, because there really wasn't that much left to see.

"Michael! Honey, are you okay?!" Lucy exclaimed, quickly setting the pot aside and reaching for her eldest son's arms. He had a sharp intake of breath, trying to pull back just as she turned on the cold tap, "here, run your arms under the water and I'll go get the first-aid kit, oh sweetie, I'm so sorry!" He'd slipped when he was holding the colander and boiling hot water had splashed up on his wrists.

He shook his head a few times, "no, mom, I'm fine, it wasn't much-" but Lucy had already rushed from the kitchen. He hardly noticed the pain at all. In fact, the only thing he could really pay attention to right now was…

"Michael," Star whispered, trailing towards him while Laddie remained the silent audience. A kid who'd lost his voice. Almost like a ghost.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, turning off the cold tap. The skin wasn't even pink anymore. Just a little warm. Then it was like nothing happened, and Sam just stood at the counter with his garlic-covered knife and a look of total fear in his eyes.

"Mike?" He repeated his brother's name, "your eyes."

Michael blinked, stepping away from Star just as she reached out to touch him, shrugging away the sense of disgust and fear he could almost  _smell_ coming off of his little brother right now.

_Michael. Michael. Michael…_

If he heard one more person say his name, he was literally going to kill someone.

"I've gotta get out of here," Michael ground out, trying to keep his eyes shielded as if somehow it would help as he snatched his jacket off of the back of one of the kitchen chairs and ran from the room.

"Mike, don't leave!" Sam squeaked, looking back in terror at Star and Laddie as his brother fled, backing away against the kitchen counter. "I've got a butt-load of garlic here, and I'm not afraid to use it, so you just keep your shit-sucking fangs to yourself!" Michael wasn't really worried. He knew they wouldn't go after his brother. Somehow he just knew.

By the time he'd zipped up his jacket and bypassed grandpa glaring from the safety of his workroom and fortress door, Michael wasn't at all surprised by what greeted him at the door, because it was just the icing on the cake. The weird guy from the boardwalk. Mom's boyfriend. A tall, smiling sleazeball he could see through even if he was blind.

"Oh!" Max greeted in surprise, and if he remembered seeing Michael with David last night, he didn't show it. "Hey, how are you doing? You must be Michael, right?" he held out his hand. Was he a-was Sam r- _no,_ that would be too easy. This guy was just your average, rune-of-the-mill douchebag with outdated glasses and a fake smile. He elected not to shake the guy's hand, and instead just looked at it like there was some sort of joke in the air he just didn't follow.

"And you must be Max," he inquired dryly, trying to ignore the sound of his name being whispered in the air, in his  _head._ It was starting to hurt.

Max held a bouquet of cheap flowers in his other hand, which seemed typical. "Right. How are you?" Michael finally relented and shook his hand, despite the fact that he just wanted to shove the asshole out of his way and get out the damn door before his mom found the first aid kit or his head exploded. Whichever came first.

"Well, you're the man of the house and I'm not coming in until you invite me."

Michael snorted, turning his head towards the door, "you're invited."

"Thanks very much," Max replied, his fake smile getting even bigger. Michael didn't stick around for small talk. Nor did he stick around to talk to the two weird kids hiding in the bushes in the front lawn. Sam's friends, probably.

* * *

Well, this was going to be a bit of a mess. Max had very much hoped to share dinner with the whole family tonight before he made his plans with Lucy known. After all, family was very important. Even when they lied to you, or tried to play silly games. Each of his boys were very important to Max, and once he had Lucy with her own children in line, he would sternly reprimand each and every one of them.

Oh David. Did he really think Max couldn't  _smell_ the blood on the boy? Couldn't tell that it wasn't his own? Such a dirty trick for his children to play on him. It was a testament to his patience that he didn't do something about it right this very instant, but first thing was first. Max had to make sure his future bride and soon-to-be youngest son were taken in hand. A pleasant meal tonight, perhaps a candlelit supper tomorrow, and then an impromptu ceremony on the beach. There was no need to rush it all in one night. They had eternity.

"Michael!" Lucy shouted from the stairwell, drawing Max's delighted attention. She was carrying a small metal container with a red cross on it. "Oh! Max! I didn't hear you knock. I'm sorry, I must look like a mess," she apologized. Oh Lucy. So sweet. So very sweet. The very image of innocence and motherhood.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Max asked, voicing his concern as he drew close.

"Oh, not at all. Michael had a burn in the kitchen, and-"

"Michael? Your oldest?" He feigned concern, finding the emotion somewhat difficult to grasp, but Max was nothing if not an excellent actor, "I'm sorry, Lucy. I wish I had known. He left quite suddenly, and I didn't think to stop him."

"He did what?" Lucy asked, lowering the first aid kit, her fragile smile fading in an instant. No matter. With his help, she would learn to take her sons in hand.

"I'll go stop him," Max offered, proffering the flowers.

"No," Lucy shook her head, striding forward to take the bouquet from him, "no, he's-Max, I'm sorry. Everything has just been a mess this week, and I just think this move has been worse on Sam and Michael than I'd realized. Maybe we should just call this off." She wasn't just referring to supper.

"Lucy, everything will be fine. They're just kids. Sometimes they do things we simply can't predict or plan for. I know you're doing your best." She'd told him all about the divorce already, the difficulty with the move, the picture perfect life she'd tried to make despite all of it. With a little push, though it didn't take much, Max offered a caring shoulder to lean on and a sympathetic ear.

His utter shock when Lucy introduced him two Star and Laddie was staggering, and Max struggled to maintain his false smile even when the little boy's eyes lit upon him with recognition. Oh how very well he remembered his whim to adopt this one, and the trouble he'd gone through to leave him with the others with the explicit command to keep him safe. It seemed even such a simple order as that was beyond David. As for Star. Oh, he knew who she was before Lucy even said the girl's name. How could he not know the scent of his own blood, rushing through her veins, and fresh on her lips like fading rouge? Neither of them had fed yet, which was a small comfort. Another reason to punish David for being such a poor babysitter.

"Sam, sweety, what are you doing?" Lucy looked across the table at her youngest who had settled down at the table, but was keeping his head hidden beneath it as if he'd dropped something important and a heavy scrutiny of the floor was in order.

"Nothing, nothing mom." He straightened up, peering back at Max with an accusing glare. He was a little taken aback, but Max was confident by the end of tonight's dinner the whole family would be eating out of his palm.

"Bread?" Lucy offered, grabbing a small basket on the table with several heavily-buttered slices.

"Don't mind if I do," Max smiled, and this time it was real. Already he felt like he was in his own home, dining with his family. Domestic bliss.


	6. Party Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David taunts and Michael snaps. Dwayne has a bright idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter may take a little longer, but I'll make up for it with even more-I don't know, I'll come up with something awesome. Going on a road trip, so there won't be as much writing time. On the plus side, Grand Canyon!

It was an itch he couldn't scratch. An intrusive, nagging little voice in his mind. An urge to go faster, despite the darkness and the fog. Or the fact that he could only push his bike so hard. Michael wasn't going to the boardwalk to track his 'friends' down, nor did he even stop to consider their underground hotel near Hudson's bluff. In all honesty, he had no idea where he was going. He only knew that at the end of it, he'd find David. Michael had no fucking clue what he'd do after that, but it wasn't going to be pretty.

Star said she was supposed to kill him. So was that the plan the whole time? Play some sick games, fuck with his head?  _Why?_  Why pretend they even wanted him around, and why-why did David have him drink blood?

"Son of a bitch," Michael hissed under his breath, using sheer brute force to beat back his thoughts. Anger was easier to focus on than stupid questions without answers, and he had a feeling if he asked, each response to those questions would end with the simple and infuriating word ' _because_ '. Because he was just a game. Because he was just a joke. Because they were  _monsters_.

Whenever he seemed to slow down, the chanting of his name around him seemed to get louder. It was a bitter song now. A predator's chime calling out in the dark, and he wanted to kick himself for feeling the urge to join in with a chant of his own. David. Marko. Paul. Dwayne.

Instinct somehow seemed to tell him when to turn or twist, almost unnaturally, to just barely avoid riding into unseen hazards. When the chanting seemed to finally die in his mind and Michael almost believed he had somehow escaped the taunts of the  _things_ he'd called friends, siren songs of summer led him from the fog and into the tiki lights of a summer-night pool party.

It was-well, it wasn't exactly what he'd expected. In fact, it looked like a run-of-the-mill pre-hangover bash, complete with kegs, teenagers, and a distinct lack of responsible adults. Yeah, sure, a few middle aged perverts feeling up girls with daddy issues on the patio, but that was about it. No sign of David. No sign of any of them.

"Michael."

He swung around with his fist, ready to go down fighting with every last ounce of his anger-only to just barely avoid knocking out an innocent party-goer's front teeth.

"Holy shit, man!" The guy dodged, holding up one free hand and another grasping a crumpled beer can, "watch it! Dude, chill out." The guy lowered his ray bans to the bridge of his nose to level Michael with a raised brow, "your friends just wanted me to tell you they're in the house. Lay off the nose candy, huh? You're lookin' kinda freaky."

Michael dug his shades out of his jacket pocket and shoved them over his face, stepping back quickly to avoid doing anything else to draw attention to himself. So they  _were_  here.

The moment the guy stumbled away to join a group of idiots clumsily attempting a keg stand by the pool, Michael knew this whole thing was a mistake. Beneath the music and the chatter, beneath the haze of his own frantic thoughts, and a familiar whisper of his name coming back into his head like it had never left-he heard something far more terrible, and far more intriguing.

Pumping hearts. Loud, rhythmic, and every single one of them seemed to be joining together to match his own. Coming to this party was a  _very_ bad idea.

Somehow, perhaps miraculously, or perhaps because the thought of facing his brother tomorrow with that same look of fear in his eyes was far more powerful than the lure of the thrumming pulses around him, Michael managed to walk towards the patio. The back door stood open, an invitation.

" _Come on,"_  he could almost hear them calling out to him again. " _Let go_."

The moment he stepped foot over the threshold, everything went silent around him. The music. The chatter. The hearts nestled in their fragile cages just waiting to be ripped out. That blessed silence was almost as jarring as all the noise.

"I was beginning to think you stood me up," a soft, raspy voice remarked in the dark. Michael frowned, watching a spark strike on a match tip as all of the lights came on at once. "Welcome to the party, Michael."

He expected something else. Blood-spattered walls, maybe. All four of them sporting dime store capes and plastic fangs? Instead, everything in the small beach house looked perfectly  _normal._ A couple of rattan chairs with white fur-lined cushions. A rag tie rug. A sparse kitchen with a couple of ice buckets. It was entirely spotless and almost boring, except for one minor detail. In the middle of the room was David, standing there, watching him.

Michael clenched his fists, trying not to focus on the twisting pain in his gut or reality finally settling in to nibble way at the edges of his anger. "I know what you are."

David settled down into one of the rattan chairs, flicking the ashes off the tip of his cigarette, "what  _we_  are?"

" _You_ , not me," Michael repeated, a slight edge to his voice. "Star told me. Everything."

"Did she?" He looked nonplussed, as if Michael had just been mentioning the color of the sky and David had no strong opinion whether it was blue or not. "She told you that you were a means to an end? A nameless face she picked out of the crowd to play with? A distraction? I don't give a fuck what she told you. She lied."

Each word was like a slap to the face, and despite the fact that Michael  _knew_ Star had used him, that didn't make it any less painful. "You wanted her to kill me."

David rolled his eyes as he took a long pull from his cigarette and then slowly let his head settle against the back of the chair while a cloud of smoke rolled out from his lips like a sleeping dragon in exhale. "You'd already be dead, wouldn't you?"

"So why did she run away?" Michael shot back at him, struggling to remain in place. A disturbing sense of calm was creeping over him, as if he wasn't staring his own death in the face right now. A wolf who wasn't even bothering to wear sheep's clothes.

"She does that," David responded irritably, "I guess she's hiding in your bed right now?" He didn't even wait for an answer, as the look on Michael's face probably gave him away, "come on, take a seat." He cocked his head to the side, eyeing Michael up and down, "unless you're scared? You've already come this far. Don't chicken out now, Michael."

"Eat me," Michael retorted, willing himself to take one step back towards the door. One step further from David and out into the hellish night. In an instant, the vampire was standing in front of him, his face transformed into an inhuman mask of sharp ridges and fangs. He lashed out and snatched Michael's sunglasses from his face, flicking them to the ground to crush them under his boot.

David clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "no. I don't think so. We're not finished yet."

Warring with fear, and a strange feeling of excitement he neither wanted nor understood, Michael glared back into the blonde's face, "what do you  _want?_ "

His gloves were gone now, Michael realized, when David flicked his cigarette to the carpet without even bothering to put it out. Then he felt something on his cheek. Claws, sharp enough to slice down to the bone. Sharp enough to kill. A feather-light touch on his cheek, drawn just under his right eye. If he moved, it would only take one blink to carve out an eye.

"What do you want?" Michael asked again, this time his voice coming out as a whisper. A plea. Dying, he could handle. Being fucked with was an altogether different story. He was a mouse right now being batted about by a smiling blonde house cat.

Drawing back his hand, David met Michael's eyes head-on, the grin quickly receding from his features as Michael stared back. Ice chips seemed to trickle down his spine, and he felt like he was taking some unspoken test. Everything with David felt like that, he realized. Only this time he wasn't hanging from a bridge, or risking his health with rancid chinese food before washing it down with  _blood._ Michael tried to stare right back into David's eyes, to fight, to challenge him.

His head was pounding now, just like the rhythm of the dozen or so hearts he'd heard hammering all at once outside, only this actually  _hurt._ It didn't feel good in the least. He wanted to look away. To give in. He'd do anything for the pain in his head and his stomach to stop now, and Michael was sure at any second his skull was going to crack from all the pressure beating against it. Then, all at once-

It was over. Michael had torn his eyes away from David, and bowed his head. If only to make the pain go away, because he knew it would. Somehow.

"Initiation's over, Michael," David remarked, his voice laced with self-satisfaction. A small victory, and yet at the same time, it was everything. "Time to join the club."

Horrible images washed over him, waves of thoughts and needs that made a part of Michael want to embrace his growing hunger, while the rest of him could only watch and fight. He saw his own nails curled into deadly sharp claws sticky with blood and clumps of shredded flesh. Bodies painting the water pink as they were washed away by the tide. Michael saw death, and he liked it.

David was circling him now, watching,  _indulging_ in the sight as Michael fought to maintain some sense of control over himself. Each breath he took became more difficult, and he could actually smell blood in the air, taste it on his tongue.

There were no more words, no more taunts, just the promise in David's smile and the threat in his narrowed eyes. Bit by bit, Michael's will began to chip away, and the monster hiding beneath it all forced him to his knees.

Stopping in front of him now, David ran a hand through Michael's curls, blunt human nails soothing him, deceitfully tender despite the very real danger his touch could bring. He needed to fight, but—

" _Hungry_?" David asked, and Michael didn't know if he'd actually said it out loud, or the question was ringing in his head like an intrusive whisper. It was a stupid question. He might have pointed that out if he was thinking straight, but he wasn't.

David took a good, long look at Michael, examining his face, studying his reaction to the question. Drawing everything out as if the brunette's need for blood wasn't clawing its way up his throat that very minute, fighting to eat him alive.

"Do you want a taste?" David asked, bringing his wrist to his lips. Not biting, just waiting. " _Beg me, Michael. Tell me what you need._ "

"David," Michael's voice cracked, a plea for escape. Something else, too. "Please." He broke. "I need it."

The vampire bit into his own wrist, drawing two fingers through the blood that welled up there and pressing his lips back to the wound to staunch the bleeding until it subsided, taking his time as Michael dug his fingers into the material of David's pants. Sharpened nails were just barely on the verge of piercing through the leather as Michael waited impatiently.

He was rewarded  _finally_ , when David pressed bloodied fingers to his lips. Michael took them into his mouth, too hungry to savour the taste until he had licked the blood clean. It wasn't enough. He needed more.

Behind them, the door swung open with full force, nearly cracking the drywall behind it, and as David stepped back from Michael with no further offers of his own blood to slake the half vampire's burning thirst, the echoes of the music outside came back in full force. This time, however, it was punctuated with screaming and the tantalising scent of iron and salt.

"Come on," David urged, reaching out to help Michael to his feet, "enjoy the party."

Unfortunately for everyone outside, he did just that. He enjoyed every minute of it.

* * *

David had always known there was something binding him to Max. Some sense of loyalty he couldn't shake,despite how much he and every single one of his brothers fucking hated the bastard. It went beyond desire, or obligation. It was a nagging compulsion. A parasitic link that bore its way through their skulls more and more each time they'd been forced to drink Max's tepid bottled blood. In the same exact moment Michael's first victim died and he truly became one of them forever, David's link to Max vanished. It was like flipping a switch. He couldn't feel anything. A barrier in his mind he had never really noticed in the first place was suddenly gone, and David felt free. More than that. Strong. Powerful.

He leaned against the doorframe, drinking in the chaos of the pool party with a smile, and the occasional wave to one of Dwayne's, Marko's, Paul's, and yes even  _Michael's_ victims. Every few years, some stupid tourists would rent out one of these beach houses. They couldn't crash all of them, but when they did-it always a night to remember.

Funny how useless people were without functioning cars or a telephone. Marko had painstakingly ensured there would be no straggling survivors to ruin the fun. Now that things were quickly beginning to wind down, Dwayne was getting into the spirit of hide and seek. David supposed he should eat someone before Paul ruined them all by seeing how high he could drop them without Marko getting in the way.

" _Quit fucking around_ ," David warned them with a mental command. Too much of a mess and cleanup would be a bitch and a half. They knew better. For the most part.

He caught sight of Michael by the pool slowly draining one of the last remaining survivors at the edge of the pool, a bloodied arm draped just over the edge and creating a small cloud of pink smoke in the water. He'd had a lot tonight, far more than enough for the others. Death suited Michael very well.

Between spoiling Dwayne's fun or salvaging the remains of the half dozen wasted deaths from Paul's little game, David elected to join Michael for a bite. Or two.

"Feel good?" He asked as he strolled towards the newly turned vampire, enjoying the calm after the storm just as much as he'd delighted in the earlier chaos. Somewhere along the way, Marko had busted the stereo, so now they were simply left with the sound of the sloshing pool filter and echoing summer night air to keep them company.

Michael very reluctantly tore himself away from his victim's shoulder, blinking up at David several times with a relaxed, glassy look in his eyes.  _Too_ much of a good thing could be a lot like a drug for them. It was a far better alternative than seeing him mope over Star. Another problem entirely that David would take care of later.

"Sam's gonna kill me," Michael replied, looking down at the girl in his arms as if just now realizing what he was doing.

"Your brother?" David asked, finding it hard to picture that. "Saw him a couple times. Screams a lot, doesn't he?" He pondered whether or not they should be concerned. "You could eat him," he suggested helpfully.

Michael's shoulders stiffened a little, and it became pretty apparent that idea was a no-go. No promises if the twerp came after them, but he wouldn't press the issue until it became a real problem. Before they'd really settled into Santa Carla, and Max acted more like a real predator and not some clown with fangs, a few of Dwayne's cousins had followed them around for awhile. Tried to save him long after it was too late. They'd been an annoyance, but they more than made up for it as dinner guests. Old family ties could be a hassle.

"I don't think so," Michael finally replied, bringing the girl's wrist back to his mouth. She was still alive. Barely.

David smirked, pulling the girl's other arm out of the water, "the choice is yours, Michael." That seemed to placate him, as he visibly relaxed then, focusing his attention back to feeding. It would take a little time for him to shake the last shadows of his old life off. David wouldn't push too much. He wasn't Max.

They fed together until their victim's heart gave out, and the dregs left weren't worth the effort anymore. Then David shoved the girl's body into the pool and left Michael to relax with Paul and Marko, who'd just now settled down to the ground beside them as the blood high took over. They'd all gone a little overboard tonight, and the poppers Paul spiked everyone's drinks with hadn't helped.

He found Dwayne in the kitchen, kicking away the scraps of what had once been a kitchen cabinet door. "Got the last one," Dwayne said as David picked his way through the kitchen, stepping over the middle aged pervert who'd lost his hiding game. Probably the guy who threw this party in the first place.

"How you wanna take care of this?" David asked, pulling out his pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and offering one to Dwayne.

The other vampire gladly took it, hopping onto the kitchen island and fishing a matchbook from one of the drawers beneath him. "Fire always works." Though David was and always had been their unofficial leader without Max's constant oversight, Dwayne had a certain flair for cleaning up their messes that the others lacked. Perhaps because Marko liked to collect more souvenirs or because Paul's idea of cleaning up involved conspicuous body pranks that would only lead hunters to their hotel that much faster if they weren't careful.

David licked his bottom lip, lighting up a cigarette of his own and discarding the remains of the pack. "Does Max know?"

Dwayne raised an eyebrow, "course he does. Always feels it when we go wild. Can't you feel it?" There wasn't much they shared with their head vampire, but the edge of an extreme blood high was something he'd definitely catch a taste of, even halfway across the world.

Unable to hide his smirk, David leaned back against the island as he spoke, "can't feel anything. We're cut off. Felt the link snap when Michael turned." They had never tested their blood on anyone else before. Even sharing amongst each other was something they hadn't tried very often in the past. Doing so was like waving a red flag at their 'sire'. Max didn't appreciate it, and the fights tended to be nasty afterwards. He always won.

They shared the silence for a little while, letting everything sink in. Now that the party was over, and the screaming had stopped, it was as if they'd wandered into the very eye of the storm. Max would be too distracted with his supper party tonight, and his delight at the prospect of a 'real family' with Lucy Emerson. The little woman and her son. Star and Laddie. Never mind Santa Carla's food supply was already stretched to its limit. No thanks to a few friends of Max's taking advantage of his hospitality.

"So you're free," Dwayne stated. Not a question. A fact.

David grinned, flicking the ashes off his cigarette, "I guess so."

Dwayne looked back at him, thoughtfully, almost in awe, "what's it like?"

It was tough to answer. He hadn't known freedom like this since he was human. David wasn't even sure he fully remembered what it was like not having a constant tether to his thoughts, a nagging desire to gravitate towards Max every so often despite himself. "Peaceful," he finally decided, "fan-fucking-tastic."

"Do you think-" Dwayne paused, hopping off of the kitchen island and crossing over to the sink where he'd placed half a dozen bottles of kerosene, "do you think maybe it'd work for us?"

David frowned, "what, you all pick some assholes off the boardwalk and make a couple more fledglings?" He didn't much like the idea of even more mouths to feed. Picking at random wouldn't be much better than dealing with Max's choices.

Dwayne rolled his eyes and tossed a canister to David, "no, I mean what if you shared your blood with us again? Maybe you're stronger now. If turning Michael made you a head vampire, it might work. Strengthen our bond, and break Max's."

"It's worth a shot," David replied doubtfully. What was the worst that could happen?


	7. Head Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Frogs meet Max. The boys do too.

They were undoubtedly very foolish and very rude young men, a combination Max was beginning to tire of. It hasn't taken Sherlock's brilliance for him to figure out something was amiss with Samuel at the supper table, especially when he tried to pass his walkie talkie off as a radio, thought he could poison Max with garlic and then poured holy water in his lap. Thank goodness he'd had the foresight to request an invitation and thus render the water useless. His mirror trick had been especially amusing.

He'd almost missed seeing them peering through the window as best they could to see the dinner party unfold. If it weren't for their rather loud bickering, Max might have passed them by.

Max approached them slowly, his hands tucked into his coat pockets as if he were out for a casual stroll, "my goodness, what are you two boys doing out here snooping on our dinner party?"

He recognized the pair now. It was hard to mistake the only two customers of his who'd rented Blacula and Vampire Circus frequently enough to nearly warp the tapes. Edwin and Aaron Toad. Or something along those lines. He remembered their faces and odd behavior more than anything else.

The teenagers scrambled back, nearly tripping over each other in the process. If Sam had it in his mind that Max was a vampire, these were probably the two who led him to that conclusion by sheer luck. That wouldn't do.

"So boys, what are we going to do about this?" Max prompted, before either of them could tell him some sort of ridiculous lie to explain themselves.

Edwin nudged his brother, and whatever he was trying to silently communicate, Max hadn't a clue. He was so out of practice probing through human minds these days, and saw little point to it anyway. The boy's intents were written plainly on their faces. They didn't know whether to put on an act or admit that they'd been caught doing something wrong.

"Alan lost his New Kids on the Block tape somewhere around here-OW!" The boy was cut off when his brother gave him an angry shove.

"Ed's tape, not mine,"  _Alan_ clarified, "we didn't wanna wake anyone up, so we were making sure-" He stopped mid-sentence and turned three shades whiter when Max immediately dropped the pretension of a stern adult and allowed his face to twist into its natural shape.

"Now," Max went on, easily maintaining his calm, now menacing tone. "I've already had plenty to eat tonight, but I think it wouldn't hurt to prepare some fresh meat for my wedding tomorrow night. Don't you agree?" He was far too fast for them to wrestle any weapons from their backpacks, and far too smart to leave either of the boys conscious on his drive home.

He listened to Wagner while he drove. So many plans to make. So many changes. Occasionally Max would check to make sure the boys weren't waking up yet, as he didn't want to take the risk of killing them with a much sharper blow. Luckily he had no such trouble until he'd reached his house and locked them safely in the 'guest room' with Thorn standing guard. There was only one twin mattress and a hanging lamp in there, but they likely wouldn't spend much time sleeping. Perhaps Lucy could redecorate later and give the room a more feminine touch once the family settled in.

All manner of ideas flew through Max's mind as he prepared himself a snifter of scotch, changed into his evening robe, and retired to his study. Only when he began to browse through the obituaries for familiar faces did he notice something very peculiar.

David was gone. The brittle link between them had suddenly snapped. He must have gotten himself killed, the foolish boy. How very problematic. Losing a childe was losing power. As a head vampire, any strength his boys possessed was his strength.

Max's eyes scanned the paper in his hands, and yet he could hardly remember what he'd already red by the time he moved onto the next paragraph. It had been so long since he'd have a bond severed, the slight lethargy that followed was disorienting. Nevermind. As with all inconveniences, it would pass. Perhaps Lucy's eldest had bested David somehow. A shame. The other boys were not likely to be forgiving.

At least dear, sweet Lucy had another son to comfort her - and replace a very small measure of power Max had lost from David's demise. There was also Star and Laddie to consider, both of whom had remained deathly silent throughout dinner. He would have to secure meals for them as well.

He returned to his reading, the loss of his eldest becoming less and less of a concern as the lethargy subsided enough for him to relax. That was, of course, until he was hit with an intense wave of nausea, dropping his scotch on the pristine white carpet below. The contents of his stomach very nearly joined it.

They were  _gone -_ his boys. All of them!

Max didn't register Thorne's wild barking until it suddenly stopped. The Toad brothers had likely tried to escape and become the hellhound's unfortunate midnight snacks in the process. Another difficulty for Max to deal with. Both the cleanup and securing four more victims rather than just two.

In one sitting, the head vampire lost nearly every scrap of power he had. The nausea disappeared as quickly as it had come on, much like ripping off a bandaid, but it raised a few questions. Namely, how he would shore up his power again quickly enough to regain what he'd lost. Following that, how difficult it would be to properly groom them while Lucy was in the house. She likely wouldn't approve of his methods, and Max did so wish for their union to be a happy one.

As much as he fancied himself a father figure, the charade did not extend to any particularly affectionate thoughts for his 'boys'. So he had no trouble cleaning up the mess he'd made of his carpet and preparing himself to turn in early (or late.)

It was a distinctly quiet evening, devoid of the typical howling winds that might have signaled the arrival of his children, or Thorne's whining and yapping. My, he must really be enjoying his meal. Still, he was a loyal hellhound, and if anything was amiss he would most certainly alert Max to it.

There were simple pleasures in his human routine, from running his small video outlet to paying bills for things he could easily do without. Even though it did nothing for his breath, Max even liked brushing his teeth, though shaving was somewhat of a trial without practice. Tonight, he took special care with his toiletries, laying out a small towel to wipe his mouth, folding it just so, filling a cup with water and placing it exactly an inch to the right of the towel, rolling up the bottom of his toothpaste tube to ensure the perfect pressure was applied as he drew a line of white onto his brush. Despite his exhaustion from losing his boys, he still found himself enjoying the whole process that verged on obsessive.

He didn't take nearly so much time to brush his teeth as he had preparing. By the time Max had finished gargling and was dabbing at the corners of his mouth, he'd have expected Thorne to pad into the bathroom for a quick scratch behind the ear. Instead, when he spun about, he was greeted by a viciously smirking ghost in the doorway.

"David?"

"Max."

The older vampire's shock quickly turned to anger. There was only one reason he could think of that explained this. "You shared blood with another master," he snarled. David, and by virtue of his actions, the others as well had betrayed him. They weren't dead. They soon  _would_ be.

"Come on, let's have a little chat, huh?  _Pops_?" David said the last word with a particularly bitter look, the vicious smirk souring. Max had only seen that look directed at him once, before David learned proper fear of his maker. The smile was all too familiar, but the challenge in his eyes was clear enough.

"I tore your throat out once, David. I can do it again," Max reminded him, following his former son into the bedroom attached to the master bath. Oddly enough, Max wasn't entirely certain this fight would be easily won. "So, where are the boys?" He looked about, spreading his arms, "and your new master?"

"Good question. Marko, who's your new master?" David asked the empty air between them, not taking his eyes off Max.

"I dunno. Paul, who's your new master?" Marko asked, creeping into the room like a spider on the ceiling, claws embedding themselves in the plaster and absolutely ruining the popcorn finish in his wake.

"Wait, who wants to know?" Paul called out, poking his head through the open bedroom window.

"Max wants to know," Dwayne answered helpfully, brushing past Max and very nearly startling him in the process. He hasn't even felt the dark-haired vampire's presence behind him.

"Wants to know what?" A final voice joined in from the bedroom doorway, and if it wasn't already cold in his veins, Max's blood would have frozen at the sight of Lucy's eldest. Fully turned, and fitting in with the rest of the boys as if he'd always been one of them.

David struck a match, "who's the new head vampire?" He didn't light any cigarettes, merely flicked the burning stub to the carpet to watch it burn.

The answer came in the form of taunting laughter. For the first time in centuries, Max was scared.

* * *

"Star," Laddie whispered, his eyes following her as she rushed to pack their things. They didn't have much. Just enough to fill a knapsack. Her hair was flying wildly about her in a cloud of black as she threw herself into a frenzy.

"We've got to go, Laddie," Star whispered hurriedly, trying to keep her voice low.

Star never asked questions. Living in the sunken hotel, she'd always done her best to avoid learning anything she didn't want to know. Laddie did the same thing. Before the killing started, and there was  _always_ killing, he tried to play make believe. All the boys were his friends, and Star was his big sister. He'd pretend every night was just one more night of games, and then he'd be able to go home. When the screaming started, he would hide. He'd hide because he wanted to join them. He'd hide because he wanted to run.

"Star," Laddie repeated her name again, "I'm sorry."

She froze, looking back at him, "what do you have to be sorry for, Laddie? You couldn't do anything. You didn't know who he was."

After dinner, when Max left, and everyone else was safely asleep, Laddie told her about the night he met Max, and the funny drink, and everything he'd always kept to himself. Even when David wasn't following them, they'd never be able to run away. There was only a little blood left in their bottle.

"What are we gonna do?" He asked, scared, and worried for the family down the hall. He liked Lucy. The other two were weird, but Laddie really liked Lucy. Was Max going to hurt her?

"We'll just-" Star hesitated, before throwing her pocket knife into the knapsack and tying it up, "we'll just have to go further. I don't know where. Luna Bay. Far enough they won't find us."

Laddie sat down on the bed, looking down at his feet. He felt sick to his stomach already from eating all that food. "What'll we do when there's nothing left?"

"I don't  _know,_  Laddie!" Star snapped, and tossed the knapsack to the ground. She pushed a fall of thick hair back over her shoulders and sat down beside him. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

"I miss my mom and dad," Laddie mumbled, leaning into Star's shoulder. They sat together in silence, neither of them wanting to stir for what seemed like hours. Every second seemed to stretch on forever into the next nowadays, when Laddie was so hungry he wanted to dig sharp nails into his arms just to find something else to focus on.

Star wrapped an arm around the little boy and pulled him close. The little boy warred with the monster inside him, and he had to focus on Star's perfume to calm himself. If he didn't, the thrumming pulses down the hall would be too much to fight. He started counting down from a hundred as they rocked together on the bed, while Star used Laddie as an anchor sanity the same way he used her.

Then, before Laddie got down to fifty - - the hunger disappeared. Star pushed him away all of a sudden, just far enough to keep her hands on his shoulders and stare down intently into his eyes.

"Laddie?" Her whisper was soft, hesitant. Maybe she was just as confused as he was. The world around them all seemed to change, bit-by-bit. He couldn't hear any thrumming pulses. Couldn't feel his gums aching with the effort to hold back a sharp-toothed grimace. Laddie couldn't feel anything more than just the exhaustion and wonder of a normal little boy.

"I wanna go home," Laddie mumbled, reaching up to rub at his eyes, fighting back tears of relief, and the first real smile he'd had in days.

"Me too," Star agreed, letting out a short, shaky laugh. "We'll leave when the sun comes up. I just want to say goodbye to Michael."

* * *

They were trapped. By the look of the room they were in, Ed was sure it had to be some kind of mental hospital. Except for the glaring fact that Santa Carla didn't have a looney bin. So this had to be a bloodsucker compound. Maybe they were even underground in some sort of weird bunker. Vampires everywhere would be breathing a sigh of relief that Edgar and Alan Frog wouldn't be out on the streets anytime soon to stake them, if they ever got out.

Alan hadn't woken up yet, which gave Ed time to think. Frankly, Alan was the lucky one. Was it night? Was it daytime? There really was no telling. Any minute now, count dork-face would come to finish what he'd started. Sam was actually right. This guy  _was_ the head vampire, and he was going to have the Frog brothers for brunch!

Why hadn't the holy water worked? The garlic? The spring loaded mirror he shoved in Sam's pants earlier that day? It just didn't make any sense. That stuff always worked in the comics! Maybe Sam did something wrong. He was an amateur, after all. Should've left this to the professionals. Alan and Edgar frog had been training for at least two years, after all. Their mattresses had enough holes and scorch marks to prove it.

This would take time to figure out. Both time Edgar didn't have and time he didn't have the patience to spend, so he did what the Frog brothers did best and just decided not to question anything. Instead, he'd act.

"Alan, get up!" Edgar snapped, punching his brother's shoulder. Alan stirred a little, emitting a soft groan. "Alan!" He was louder this time, urgency creeping quickly into his voice, "we gotta get outta here before we're turned into human juice boxes!"

Alan had to  _peel_ his eyelids open, his recovery from whatever blow he'd had a slow, and difficult one. "Are we dead?" He asked, pulling himself into a sitting position with more than a little help from his brother.

"Not by a long shot. There's no way a bloodsucker's gonna nail the Frog brothers," Edgar informed him, immediately contradicting himself. "I need your help breaking down the door."

 _That_ really got Alan's attention, "like how?" He bolted up, only wobbling for a second or two before he gained his proper balance.

"Well, we just-" Edgar made a couple of gestures towards the door, "do it. Like we run, and if we hit it at the same time, it'll come crashing down."

"This isn't a movie," Alan replied smartly, "we need a battering ram." He gave his brother a quick once-over, and Edgar wasn't sure he liked that look.

"No. Not that."

"Well  _what,_ huh?"

Edgar looked around, desperate for anything but his own skull to use as their rescue device of choice. There wasn't much to choose from. The ceiling lamp wouldn't work. Neither would the calendar on the wall from 1971. He really envied that brunette beach bunny riding her camel off to safety right now. "The bed frame?"

Alan frowned, glancing over at the pig iron structure "you think it'll work? Looks flimsy."

"Could use  _your_ head to break the door down," Edgar suggested, already striding towards the bed to begin lugging the mattress off so he could get at the frame beneath. He really hoped this worked. It was the only bed they had right now.

"How do you wanna do this?" Alan asked, pushing the mattress across the room and propping it up against the wall. "Should we use the whole thing?"

"If we unscrew two sides, we can just have our own poles to run at the door with, 'cause the corners look like they fold in. It's simple." Edgar explained, seriously doubting this would work, but putting on a front like the hero he was to keep his brother calm. A good leader never showed his fear, even if it was on the verge of trickling down his leg.

Several minutes, a dozen bruises, and a split thumbnail later, the Frog brothers decided that maybe they needed a better plan. Namely, the only one in mind, was of course to scream for help (in as manly a fashion as possible, Edgar reminded himself.) It didn't do much good, despite the higher octave they both discovered they were capable of reaching in desperation.

"Ed, this isn't going to work," Alan relented, rubbing at his throat. "Where's our stuff? Can't we use some tools or something?"

Edgar Frog shook his head, leaning against the door and sliding down to the ground with a pitiful sigh, "the vampire took 'em. We're just going to have to face it, Alan. The only way we get out of this is if we overpower him by force when he comes back for a bite to eat."

Alan looked doubtful, kicking the mattress in frustration as it leaned against the wall, "we're dead meat."

The Frog brothers had met their darkest hour, and they had lost. Evil won. Truth, justice, and the American way were done for. They might as well raise the commie bloodsucker flag now and admit defeat. Even worse, the world would never know of their noble sacrifice.

"Do you think mom and dad will find the letter?" Alan asked, looking towards the discarded sections of the bedframe on the ground.

"They'll have to figure out the combination first," Edgar replied, drawing his knees up so he could drop his forehead to them to black out the light from the ceiling lamp. "I don't even think they know where the shovel is." Maybe it hadn't been the best idea burying their most prized items and the journal of their exploits in the backyard, with a three part treasure hunt starting at the superman lockbox on Edgar's windowsill. One of many things they'd thought through exhaustively, and yet didn't think through very well.

Alan nodded, and leaned against the mattress, "future generations will know. Someone will find it."

Edgar jerked up, "yeah. Yeah, you're right!" He used the door behind him for leverage to stand, grasping at the door handle, "they'll find it, and maybe they can use it to save Santa Carla-probably the world," he paused, then rambled on a little more anxiously, "'cause by then vampires will have everyone in camps, probably." His hand slipped on the door handle just then, and the door swung wide, causing Edgar to stumble back with a yelp and crash against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway outside.

"You didn't check it if was unlocked?!" Alan demanded, leaping forward to scramble out of the room, nearly tripping when the mattress fell after him.

Once they had both sufficiently recovered, and Alan somehow restrained himself from throttling his brother, they decided to explore the fortress, and apparently yuppie-suburbian lair of the monster. The disaster scene they found in the master bedroom was way better (and worse) than anything they'd ever read in their comics or embellished in their journals.

"Alan," Edgar whispered, looking around.

Alan gathered his jaw from the floor, his spine stiffening, "yeah?"

"How much you think we should charge for this?"


	8. Snowcones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and grandpa talk a bit. Alan tries thinking for once. Lucy's patience with the whole family is tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, serious talk. Should I cut some of these chapters together? Feels so weird to hit only 27k at chapter 8. Anyway, hope you like this bit, probably going to amp stuff up pretty soon between David and Michael. Because it wouldn't be one of my fics if I didn't.

"Wish he'd left behind more souvenirs," Marko complained, leaning on Dwayne's shoulder as they all surveyed the room together. They didn't have to use stakes, or risk sunlight with the coming morning, or even fill his sink with holy water before he'd done his nightly brush. It had almost been too fast for anyone but David. In a shower of ash, fire, blood-one swift punch, and he held Max's heart in his claws.

Michael didn't wonder at the excitement he shared with the others. He was still reeling from the raw, throbbing pain lingering in his skull and burning through his veins that David promised would begin to fade once he had his first 'proper sleep', whatever that meant. They told him it was just his body adjusting to death, letting the little things go. Somehow Michael thought there was more to it than that, but it felt  _so good_ to finally eat, he didn't think he'd really miss whatever he'd lost tonight.

They left Max's skull on his pillow. For an added flair, Paul found an extra pair of the former head vampire's glasses and positioned them over the eye sockets. It took a bit of super glue to keep them in place, but the effect worked.

Max's dog, muzzle still painted with the blood David had tempted it with, didn't seem terribly upset to have a new master, and it took only a nod from their leader to send him home to the hotel. Michael didn't really know what the deal was there, but it definitely wasn't a normal dog.

Well-fed from the evening's activities, none of the boys cared to linger to finish off Max's leftovers in the other room. "After all," David remarked before Marko and then Dwayne leapt out through the open bedroom window and into the howling night, "gotta leave a good message, don't we?"

Paul backed towards the window, taking a lingering step after another as he let out a few dry snickers, his eyes flicking over Michael, "you girls coming?" He kicked at the air as he rose towards the ceiling and clumsily slipped through the window, but not without knocking over a nearby standing lamp and 'accidentally' tearing down the curtains in his wake. An insult added to more than just an injury, when there was no one left to really appreciate it anymore.

"How's your head?" David patted Michael on the shoulder, stepping up beside him as the pair lingered near the head of the bed where Max's skull had become an ironic decoration. Resting in one piece and a light dusting of black ash. Michael could still taste sour blood on the air.

Michael gave David a sidelong glance, unable to muster any of the anger or fear he'd felt just a couple of hours ago when he'd tracked the boys down to that beach party. He hated to admit how badly the odds had been against him, because he was nothing if not a sore loser. Michael had the feeling David and him probably had that in common.

"It's fine."

The wind near the window ceased to stir, and suddenly the air in the room became very still.

"You can't lie to me, Michael."

The newly-turned vampire crossed his arms. "Hurts a little."

" _I can take some of it away if you want."_

Those words bounced around in his head, and Michael nearly jumped, startled by the sheer force of the sudden thought. "Did you just say something?"

David reached forward to tap Michael on his right temple, and he really didn't have very far to reach. They were standing pretty close to each other right now. The calming scent Michael had quickly begun to recognize as his-leader's-seemed to be enough to help him stay calm, despite how crazy tonight seemed.

"You'll figure it out," the blonde offered with a not-quite-innocent smile. The brand he seemed to wear so well. "I can take some of it away if you want," he repeated aloud this time. "Just ask."

Michael eyed David up and down, "not sure I trust you." There was a certain dark humor in trusting the blonde, knowing what he was now.

"Scared?" David asked, raising an eyebrow.

Michael rolled his eyes, "alright. Go for it." He didn't even have time to regret his words before slender gloved fingers lashed out to grip at the back of his neck and pulled Michael forward until their foreheads were touching, and sharp yellow eyes caught his own. He thought to shove David away, especially when the throbbing in his skull seemed to worsen in huge waves. When he tensed up, David's fingers dug deeper into his neck, nails still blunt beneath supple leather. Only bone-deep instinct kept Michael calm enough to realize the older vampire wasn't planning to hurt him. Not after the trouble he'd gone through tonight to make Michael kill.

Then all at once the pain shrank away into a minor annoyance, a hint of something uncomfortable beneath the relief that flooded his mind and muscles. "There," David whispered, releasing his hold on Michael and stepping back. "All better?"

"Y-yeah," Michael agreed, momentarily at a loss for words. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and he just barely missed the intense look David gave him just as he turned to the window. "Gotta get home," he stated, not too sure he really knew where home was anymore. Not like he could face Sam, or grandpa, or even his mom at that moment. Not to mention Star.

"Lead the way," David gestured to the window. "The boys are waiting."

They left the house, Max's skull, and Michael's fears behind them. He'd figure everything out tomorrow. Probably.

* * *

Mom had been too mad at him to talk over breakfast that morning, and in too much of a rush to get to work to check on Mike. Sam didn't have it in him to tell her he hadn't come home. Besides, he was too busy staring at the shit-sucking vampires at the kitchen table wolfing down their corn flakes and banana slices like they hadn't eaten in weeks.

"I'll be back at seven," Lucy told him, quickly pulling the door closed after her, but not without throwing out the warning "stay in your room!"

Everything was bad enough, adding another grounding on top of the one he already had just seemed like overkill. Even worse that Sam had no intention of following her instructions, either. He had to find the head vampire, and he had to see the Frog brothers. He also had to get as far away from grandpa's creepy menagerie as possible, and figure out a way to fashion a permanent neck-guard while the queen and midget of the undead were apparently staying with them. Granted, they almost seemed normal today. The kid was even giggling.

Sam turned back to the kitchen table, nervously watching them. He had a couple of sharpened pencils in his pocket, just in case. He'd even managed to rub some raw garlic on his neck if they tried to pull anything funny.

"So," he cleared his throat, edging around the kitchen towards the sink, not daring to show his back to either of them in the event they tried a double-fanged sneak attack. "Thought you guys couldn't go out in sunlight without turning extra crispy?" There was definitely enough light shining in through the kitchen window to get the job done if it were true.

Star smoothed back her hair, looking at Sam as if he'd just grown a third arm, "do we look like we're frying right now?" She nudged Laddie's shoulder, and the little boy lifted up his spoon as if he was going to launch a milk-covered banana slice at Sam at any moment. Star shook her head, seeming to want to bathe her curls in the light. Maybe they weren't bloodsuckers. Just weird beach hippies after all. Or Edgar and Alan really didn't know anything about vampires at all and just put on a good act.

He might as well just come right out with it. "Look, I'm basically a good kid. Yeah, okay, I tried to flush a turtle down the john when I was eight, but please don't eat me." Once it was out in the open, Sam had to force back the urge to let out a little whimper. Because if they weren't beach hippies, they were definitely planning to bite.

Star put her hands on the table and stood up, "we're just waiting for your brother to show up so I can say goodbye. Let's go, Laddie. I want to wash a few of your shirts before we leave," she grabbed the little boy's half-empty cereal bowl and carried it over to the sink, dumping out the contents and washing it in silence. She said absolutely nothing else, very loudly, all the way out the kitchen door. Even when she walked into grandpa as he strode towards the refrigerator to grab his morning pick-me-up.

The old man flipped up his glasses and gave the pair a once-over, then nodded and patted her on the shoulder in passing. "Good for you," he told her, though the statement was more mumbled under his breath.

"You seen your brother anywhere, Sam?"Grandpa asked, turning away from the open fridge door with a plastic-wrapped dish of leftovers in one hand and a glass of root beer in the other.

"No," Sam shook his head, "he didn't come home."

"We'll give it a couple more hours," grandpa told him, lumbering towards the kitchen table to set down his prizes. He tore the saran wrap off the plate and crushed it into a shiny little plastic ball that he tossed behind him into the kitchen sink. Mom hated when he did that.

"What if he doesn't show up?" Sam prompted. "What if he's-y'know?"

Grandpa elected not to say anything until he'd grabbed a fork from one of the kitchen drawers, polishing it off with the cuff of his robe and a few good breaths. "I don't know." He walked back to the table and took a seat, hopping and scooting to bring his chair closer to his 'well balanced' breakfast. "We'll get some snow cones."

How could he think of eating-and then eating some more, when they had no idea of Mike was dead or alive, or  _something worse_? Sam had doubted his grandpa's sanity before, but now he was doubting whether the old man even gave a crap about them. He was just about to say something he'd regret when Sam realized his grandpa was staring back at him now with a forkful halfway to his mouth. The look in his eyes said a lot.

"If he doesn't show up by two or three, we'll get some snow cones. Grab one for your ma, too. Judging by the look of those two back there, walking around just fine when it's not even ten yet, if Michael's not back to normal-" He lowered his fork, reaching across the table to grab Sam's shoulder but then seeming to think better of it and withdrawing, "-then he probably died trying. You understand?"

Sam nodded, the anger leaching out of him like a deflated balloon.  _C'mon Mike, hurry up and get home already!_

* * *

"How much for the movie prop?"

"It's not a prop. It's a hunting trophy and it's for display only."

"You're joking."

"No, honest. The mega biter of them all, me and my brother nailed this sucker just last night."

"Okay, dude, sure, just give me my change."

That conversation between each of the Frogs and their customers, or variations of it, took place more than fifty times by the time three o'clock rolled around. Yet not one person stopped to ask if they were taking on jobs or lingered long enough to listen to their valiant tale. It was a bit of a bummer, actually.

Between keeping an eye out for shoplifters and picking through a box of vintage magazines for price-stickering, Alan had a lot of time to think. He was letting Edgar stalk their customers for the time being.

Why wasn't Sam answering the phone, and why hadn't he called  _them_ yet? If the head vampire was dead, and it was safe to assume he was since he probably couldn't walk around without a skull, that Michael guy should be back to normal. You'd think finding out the family wasn't going to have to worry about leasing coffins on wholesale would've warranted a phone call. So did Sam and his brother know yet? Or did the Emersons have such bad luck that a different head vampire entirely ended up slipping Michael a type A+ mickey? Besides that, who really  _did_ kill Max?

Alan took a deep breath, and tried to do what he did best—completely shoved all logic, questions, and reasoning to the back of his mind while his brother took the wheel. It was just easier that way.

"Hey, Ed, what time did you wanna make that house call?"

Edgar peeked back at his brother through a small jungle of spinning floor racks, his latest copy of 'Vampires Everywhere' tightly rolled up in one fist and at the ready to deliver to any unsuspecting tourists the second they walked in. "We give Mr. Phoenix until nightfall,  _then_ we make the call."

Alan nodded, glaring back down at his box of magazines. They were running out of space. Ever since the Frog brothers had decided they needed to defend truth, justice, and the American way-sales had dropped off a little. Didn't help that their parents were always nodding off  _standing in the middle of the store_  like patchouli-soaked zombies. Maybe once they really got going and nailed enough bloodsuckers to fill a shelf with fangs and vampire trinkets, they could start charging for viewings. How much would it cost to slap up an extra cabinet with a red curtain or something over it?

"Hey, not that you're not creeping the hell out of me right now, dude-but how much for the skull?"

Alan jerked to attention, looking back in front of him. Somehow Edgar had disappeared somewhere around the store, and Alan had gotten too lost in his thoughts to realize they had another customer at the counter. "It's not for sale," he stated flatly, moving his box of magazines aside. "But I can make you a pretty good deal on some craft magazines. You don't have any vampire problems right now, do you?" He prepared to launch into yet another speech.

"Yeah, sometimes holy water takes awhile to kick in. That's how we nailed the bloodsucker last night,' Edgar said from across the store. He'd managed to corner someone else, too. Somehow Alan didn't quite believe that latest theory of his brother's, but he couldn't think of anything better.

* * *

"Maria, wasn't Max supposed to come in an hour ago?" Lucy called out from behind the new releases shelf. She was supposed to leave at 7, and it was already 8. Without Max to relive her, Lucy couldn't just leave Maria alone. It was a busy night, and they really needed two clerks to deal with all the extra business.

"No, I haven't seen him. Hey, Lucy, can you grab me the remote from the back counter? The TV's are off-sync," Maria replied, entirely uninterested. She was a pretty girl, and she worked hard, but there was a certain disconnect they seemed to have between each other. Like Maria was just drifting through a waking dream from one day into the next. Oh to be young again.

Lucy finished straightening the tapes and making sure they were all in their cases, then smoothed out her skirt and walked towards the back store counter to grab a remote. Just as she turned around, she found herself face-to-face with her youngest son, and her father standing not far behind him holding two snowcones.

"Oh!" Lucy exclaimed, stepping back and putting a hand to her chest, "my god, Sam, you scared me half to death. You really need to stop doing that!" She paused, looking back at her father and then Sam, frowning, "what's wrong? Did something happen? Where's your brother?" This was it. She just knew it. They probably found him lying in a ditch somewhere by his bike. Lucy's heart froze just at the thought, when her father held out one of the snowcones and nodded at her.

"I'll just be waiting outside for a spell," he remarked, nodding towards Sam, "could use a breath of fresh air. You talk to your ma for a bit."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "alright, grandpa." He looked back at Lucy, pointing to the snowcone. "You probably wanna eat that before I say anything, mom. It's lemon. You like that, right?"

"Sam, I'm working. I don't want a snow cone right now," Lucy argued, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, "what happened and why are you both here? Is Michael okay?" She opened her eyes, holding out the remote to Maria, who had slipped around the front counter at this point and walked over to her to snatch it away. She gave Lucy and Sam a side eye before walking back to the wall of television sets.

"Okay, so, like, last night, right? Michael went out. Then Star and Laddie had breakfast this morning with us, and they were normal. I had a talk with grandpa."

"Thank you for the news update, honey, but I want to know why you're here. Where is  _Michael?_ " She was getting frustrated now, and a line was forming at the counter as Maria rushed to deal with customers just as she'd managed to sync the television sets on Dracula, where two dozen pairs of Bella Lugosi's eyes joined Lucy's in staring back at her youngest son while she waited for an explanation.

"I think we need to go outside for this, mom." Sam paused, "it's pretty hot in here. Y'know, so your snowcone doesn't melt."

"Sam, I'm losing my patience," Lucy warned, relenting just for the sake of speeding this up. "I really don't know what's going on here, but enough is enough. Tell me what's going on."

Sam took Lucy by the hand, as if he was the parent, leading his child through a crowded building towards the cool night air outside, where crowds seemed to be swarming the boardwalk to enjoy their summer as much as possible before it got away.

"Mom, Mike's-well, Mike's-"

"Michael is what, Sam?" Lucy lowered her snowcone and took her hand from his.

"Sorry," a familiar voice interrupted them, stepping up behind her. Though she knew it as well as her own, an unwarranted chill ran down Lucy's spine as she spun around to face her oldest son, looking for all the world like someone she'd never met. His eyes. Lucy hated that such a horrible thought could even enter her mind, but his  _eyes_ were-

Cold.

"Sorry I ran off, mom." Michael grinned, breaking the tension that had seemed to wash over them. "Hey Sam," he reached out to pull his brother in for a side-hug, "how's it going?" 


	9. Funhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy has had enough. Sam confronts Michael. The boys decide to have some fun.

"How's it going?" Lucy asked, astonished that he'd even ask. "Really? You haven't said more than a few words to me in the last couple of days, and now you want to kn-" she cut herself off, steadying herself with a deep breath and mindlessly taking a bite of her snowcone just to focus on what she was going to say next. What she could  _possibly_ say after a question like that. "Are you in a better mood now?" Lucy finally came out with it. "I'd like to know. I'd also like to know if you plan on disappearing while you've got houseguests again. I'd like to know a lot of things, Michael, and it isn't going very well at all for me, frankly. I've got two almost-grown sons trying to drive me crazy, who I'd like to add are doing a pretty good job of it!"

"Mom," Sam tried to interrupt.

"What is it, Sam? What is it? Is Frankenstein leasing out the neighbor's house? Are zombies digging up the front garden now?!" Lucy demanded, rounding on him next.

"N-No. No!" Sam turned pale, taking a step back. "You're just kind of making a scene."

Lucy abruptly lowered her snowcone, suddenly realizing they had several people staring at them, including half of the customers inside the video store, and those leather-clad boys Max didn't seem to approve of. Oh lord. Now her father was watching them, too, standing at a distance while casually sucking at the side of his snowcone while he held a hand beneath it to catch the dripping red ice. She had a bad taste in her mouth now, and images of reluctant arguments in McDonald's parking lots with her ex-husband came to mind while their sons sat quietly in the backseat waiting to go home.

She closed her eyes again, took another deep breath, and ignored the sound of laughter from the teenagers across the boardwalk who seemed to be watching them more intently than any of the other gawkers. "Go home. Both of you. Just go home. We'll talk later." She gave Michael a good, long look. His face was just as blank as it might have been when she'd fought with his father, unreadable. Anger and embarrassment were suddenly washed away with a bitter taste of shame on her tongue to go with the fake lemon and sugar. Lucy spun on her heels and walked back into the video store, praying Max would be there soon so she could just go home.

"I'm sorry, mom," Sam mumbled behind her, not moving. It was better that way. She wasn't sure she'd be able to keep herself together if she said anything else. Lucy's eyes were burning right now, and she didn't know who she was more upset at anymore. Her ex-husband for being such a poor father that he left her to raise Sam and Michael alone, or her sons who couldn't seem to give her a break, her own father for just watching, or herself for-well, everything she'd just said.

Nobody ever said being a mother was easy. Some nights it was tougher than others.

* * *

Michael played chicken with his brother and grandpa. Sooner or later someone was gonna crack and say something. For the time being, he was keeping his mouth shut. Sam would probably blab first. Sam  _always_ blabbed first. It was definitely going to be Sam.

"Didn't grab you a snow cone, but glad you could join us," grandpa slapped Michael on the back, joining the pair with a dry laugh and the air of someone who hadn't just watched a woman have a near-breakdown right in front of them. "You're turning into a bit of a night owl, huh, Michael?"

He didn't say it like there was anything else behind the question. He didn't have to. Gramps just had a way of looking at you that pretty much said everything for him. He knew. As for Sam? Well, his little brother just looked confused. Nothing had really clicked yet.

"Guess so," Michael admitted, glancing across the boardwalk where the boys waited impatiently. Paul in particular looked like he wanted to join the trio just to stir shit up. Marko was all but holding him back by his shirt collar.

" _Mike_ ," Sam whimpered, seeming to catch on to what grandpa had really meant. "Why?!" He all but hissed under his breath, torn now between fear and not anger—maybe something else. Michael had a sudden realisation that he couldn't really read his brother's emotions like he should. He just didn't really understand them anymore.

There were several dozen answers he could give his little brother. A thousand tiny lies. Too bad the old man could probably see right through all of them even if he tried. So he just came out with. "I was hungry."

"But you killed the head vampire!" Sam protested, "I don't understand!"

Michael's eyebrows shot up, "head v-oh. Yeah, no," he nodded towards the boys, waving at them and allowing himself to openly acknowledge their creepy staring act for the first time since he'd decided to confront his family. Marko blew his grandpa a kiss, and the old man decided to re-focus his attention on the dregs of his snowcone.

"We all killed him," Michael went on, "that guy mom was dating. He was kind of a dick."

"And you ate someone?!" Sam asked, clearly desperate for a different answer. One that didn't traumatize him into sporting turtlenecks and garlic-doused boxers for the rest of his life. "Wait, no, Mike, he wasn't a vampire. I threw holy water on him and everything. He was just-how could you-I don't-why-"

"Hey, Sam, relax," Michael reached out to grab his shoulder only to find Sam recoiling from him.

"I'm not gonna eat you," Michael held his hands up, "promise."

"Yeah, sure," Sam spat back at him, "I've heard that one before."

Michael scowled, going on the defensive, biting back the urge to growl and draw a judgy look from either his brother or his grandpa, who'd discarded his snow cone cup by now in a nearby trash can.

"Max wanted you and mom to be just like me, so fucking remember that when you decide to stake me, Sam. I didn't have a  _choice._ "

Grandpa nodded at Michael, "you just take care your ma doesn't find out. You gonna come back to the house to talk to that girlie of yours, or…?

 _Star._ David said she'd be back to normal. "Nah," Michael shook his head, "she doesn't need me anymore. Just get her a bus ticket or something," before he decided to swing by and rip her throat out for fun. Couldn't exactly keep this whole thing a secret if mom found the leftovers in the morning, though. Too bad.

He left them both outside the video store, letting the sound of beeping arcade machines and chattering valley girls drown out whatever Sam was trying to shout at him. Michael wasn't in the mood to worry whether taking the risk of punching his brother in the shoulder was really worth it. He'd probably break something important.

"Y'know we could eat em if they're giving you a hard time," Paul remarked once Michael was within earshot. He gave the blonde rocker a dirty look and received in turn an unabashed grin that just verged on showing too much teeth. The kind of look that'd make an atheist cross himself.

"Shit," Michael cursed, running a hand through his hair. He wasn't exactly expecting a warm welcome from his family after the week he'd had, but he didn't think it would be  _that_  bad. It left him just as irritated as he'd been last night, before David had given him that last little push to kill.

"C'mon, let's take a walk, huh?" David suggested, leaving his bike parked just beside the railing. The others did the same, drifting together, neither breaking step nor falling back in the crowd around them. Michael noticed how easily David seemed to carve their path on the boardwalk, and how nervous the few who inadvertently locked eyes with him became. He just seemed to have that effect on people.

He  _wanted_ to have fun, and a part of Michael knew it wouldn't be too hard if he tried. David had been right about the pain in his head. It had taken an oddly comfortable day suspended upside-down from a rusted pipe, but he felt great after that. Better than great. Then he talked to mom and Sam, and now he felt strangely hollow. There was a place in his mind that might have felt guilt before, but it was gone, and now he was just frustrated. What a buzzkill.

" _Don't think about it too much,"_ a soft voice echoed in his mind. Dwayne's voice. Michael didn't even wonder at how natural it felt, taking in someone else's thought as if it were his own, just barely able to recognize that it wasn't.

" _Not worth the headache. Trust me,"_ Dwayne added, grabbing at the shoulder of Michael's jacket drifting back just enough so that Michael was following David a little more closely now, scenting him even through the smell of buttered popcorn and sugary perfumes drifting around them. It was a little weird he could even tell the difference, but he had a feeling he was going to have to follow Dwayne's advice about overthinking stuff in more ways than one. His disconnect from his family was just the tip of the iceberg.

They made their way across the boardwalk, where wood met sand, slipping through trailing lines for carnival games and spinning rides, and the passing stares of the summer crowds seemed to disappear altogether. All at once, it felt as if the five of them had become invisible. Passing shadows.

"Anybody for a show tonight?" David called out to the rest of them, eliciting a few laughs from the others, though Michael didn't quite get it. They'd stopped at a large wooden funhouse that had seen better days. Caricatures of circus animals danced together in a line around the walls towards the gaping mouth of a gigantic clown with chipped wooden teeth hanging over the red curtained entry.

"Is this place even open?" Michael asked, doubtfully. Looked like it'd probably fall apart on a windy day.

David smirked, striking a match against his boot and lighting up a cigarette, "sort of." He strode towards the building, but instead of walking in through the clown's mouth, he skimmed his gloved hand over the wall until he stopped just around the side of the building where a black painted door knob stood out in the middle of a grinning alligator's eye. "No cheating," he warned Marko, looking back at the smaller vampire as he took a drag of his cigarette, "I mean it this time."

Marko held up his hands, "I gotcha. No cheating. Promise."

"Liar," Dwayne remarked, as David yanked open the door into darkness and stepped inside. Michael was the last to follow.

They stood in a storage room filled with broken props and parts of old dummies too worn out to be worth keeping, and not for the first time Michael wondered at how much detail he seemed to be able to pick up in the dark. There were no lights on in the cramped little space, yet he could still see everything around him in startling detail.

Paul snatched something hanging off the edge of a box and tossed it at Michael, who caught it with ease. More than just preternatural reflexes, he'd always had a knack for baseball.

Michael examined what he realized was a knotted wad of fabric and began to unwind it until he realized he was holding a moth-eaten cape pinned to what looked like half of a plastic mask, "what's going on?"

"We're playing a game," David explained, leading against a closed door with a sign on it that read 'employee entrance' in crooked painted letters. "Remember the Chinese food?"

Michael opened his mouth, debating between a sarcastic smile or a scowl at the thought, "yeah." He paused, "why, you planning to fuck with my head again?"

Marko snickered, "nah. Not  _yours._ "

"Dibs on the little kids!" Paul shouted, picking through the box he'd pulled the cape and mask from.

"They don't  _bring_ kids here anymore after that stunt you pulled with the news crew, asshole," Dwayne cut in.

"I still won, didn't I?" Paul replied with a juvenile flip of the finger.

"You're not telling me I need to wear this, are you?" Michael asked, giving the cape in his hands a questionable sniff. Who knew B.O. could last as long as this thing probably sat in storage. For all he knew, it was older than grandpa. Or his mom at the very least.

"Not unless you want to," David assured him, snatching up a dummy that had been broken in half at the torso and was missing one forearm. "We just need to set the scene."

* * *

This was the sort of stunt Max often 'took them in hand' over. David rankled at the thought that they had spent so many  _decades_ under their former master's thumb, when they likely could have killed him long ago. It was so easy. Granted, without Michael as a catalyst-that one nudge David needed to usurp Max's power-things might not have gone quite as smoothly. In fact, he and his brothers could very well have found themselves chained up in the basement, as each of them had been in the past for one transgression or another.

There was no love lost on the dusted bastard. David's only real regret was that they hadn't lingered to piss on the ashes when all was said and done. Or poured his arsenal of bottled blood on that fucking white carpet Max had been so proud of. At least they got to keep his dog. It hadn't taken much to persuade the hellhound. Just a little blood. An unspoken understanding. The dog was loyal to power, and with David's pact among his boys he certainly had that.

He flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette and took a long pull from it, contemplating what tricks he'd use tonight as he watched Dwayne examine a couple of wig forms cheaply painted to look like severed heads. Marko was empty-handed, leaning against the opposite wall with a sneaky glint in his eyes. He probably wouldn't use any of these broken props tonight. Paul seemed to be planning to use them all, as he'd dragged two boxes into the corner of the room by now and was excitedly digging through them.

David glanced over at Michael, who seemed to be just as fascinated by the theatrics of this whole thing as he might have expected. The cape and phantom mask were on the ground, discarded in a heap as Michael drifted towards the door David stood beside.

"I don't get it," he shook his head, "what're we doing?"

"You live long enough, you get bored. Sometimes we practice a couple of head games with the tourists. See who cracks. Can't just eat everyone all the time." He offered his cigarette to Michael, who took it without a second thought. David watched smoke drift out from between his lips and couldn't honestly say he didn't enjoy the sight. "Just follow along, Michael. See if you can keep up."

Michael met him head-on with the brief look of challenge David had found so intriguing the night they'd raced. "I think I can handle it."

David pushed open the door to the employee entrance, washing their little storage room in a triangle of flickering red light He leaned down to snatch up the upper torso of the broken dummy he'd picked out, "who's on first?"

Marko skipped forward, pausing once to ruffle Michael's hair, just fast enough on the draw to avoid being punched in the shoulder before he slipped from the room towards their waiting victims. They were just close enough to the beach to hear tonight's concert, jazz sax mingling with synchronized clapping and cheers, and the corny funhouse music that started just then to signal tonight's first round of fair goers taking a trip through the mirror room. Hopefully the game didn't work up their appetites  _too_ much tonight, or they'd have to make a couple stops on the way home. Not that David really minded.


	10. Head Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marko gets mirror shy. Sam and the Frogs have a terrible idea. David teaches Michael the ropes.

"So what's supposed to happen?" Angela popped her magnificent bubble of gum and licked the pathetic remains of it from her bottom lip and chin. "This is a bunch of bull," she added before her cousin could launch into his dumb story. Judging by the corny old paintings on the wall and the crummy clown-faced door, the most they were in for was tetanus if someone tripped on a rusty nail sticking out of one of the floorboards inside. This place should've been shut down when Nixon was in the White House.

"It's different every time," Rick explained, "I haven't been to the place, but the stories are real." He held up the polaroid camera hanging from his neck by a strap, "all we have to do is make it to the exit door, snap a photo, and the guys down the street'll give me twenty bucks." Even if he was trying to put on an act like he believed in this bunk, he clearly thought they were going to make an easy twenty.

"I can hold your hand if you want," Rick's idiot friend, Curtis suggested, sidling up close to Angela as they approached the door. Her twin sister, Cindy did her a favor and slugged him in the arm.

"Back off, piss-stain," Cindy warned him, reaching for the door, "we're in this for the money. Not your weird idea of panty-stuffing." She always had such a lady-like way with words.

"Nobody's even here," Angela pointed out, opening the door.

"Music's on, though, so it's open," Rick replied. Indeed the music  _was_ playing. Carnival crap, just like the stuff on the merry-go-round. Maybe it was a little slower, but it was hard to tell with the concert still blaring on the beach. Total sensory overload.

Angela took the gum from her mouth and slapped it on the side of the wall before she walked inside, followed shortly by her sister, Curtis, and finally Rick. So much for brave, she thought. Almost like he was prepared to run off if any of them got stabbed by an ax-wielding maniac or worse. Not that she could think of anything worse.

It was like they'd walked into an old-fashioned dressing room. A hall of mirrors lined by flickering light bulbs stood in front of them that looked like it probably stretched on to the other side of the building before it ended in a two-way split.

"It's just a funhouse," Cindy blurted out, sounding disappointed. "Who's afraid of mirrors?" She demanded, stepping past her sister and stomping ahead. Angela followed at a distance, lingering to glimpse her reflection in each mirror she passed. They weren't even the kind that stretched you out or gave you a gigantic butt.

"Hurry up," Rick urged, walking past her. Curtis followed Angela close enough to play shadow.

She rolled her eyes, looking back at the mirror to her left. Funny, looked like there was a crack in it she'd missed before. On impulse, Angela reached up to touch the crack, curious to see how deep it was. It grew a little longer. Great. The place was already falling apart at the seams.

"Hey, Curtis, you might want to stay away from the-" Angela looked back at him as she talked, only to find he was nowhere in sight. She didn't know  _how_ it happened, but somehow she'd just missed him walking by, or maybe walking out. Either way, he was definitely gone. The music stopped. Suddenly the place got ten times creepier.

Angela worried at her inner cheek with her teeth, reminding herself that this was just a rundown funhouse. Mirrors couldn't do anything but crack. "Curtis?" She called out on impulse, even if he was probably too far off to hear her. Then, even though she wanted to fight with every muscle in her being  _not_ to look, she turned her head back towards the cracked mirror. The crack had spread to her face. One long white gash over her upper cheek and right eye. On impulse, she reached up to touch the spot on her face the crack ran over in the mirror, and-

"Oh god," Angela gasped. She  _felt_ it. She felt a crack on her face. Slicing right through the skin into the muscle, cartilage, and  _bone_ beneath. In the mirror, the crack began to spread downwards, towards her lips. She couldn't scream. Couldn't move. God, why couldn't she move?

The music started up again, and it seemed to be even worse than the silence. She reached for the mirror to the bottom of the crack, hoping her hand could somehow block it from spreading down any further. When she reached, though, she saw and  _felt_ the flesh of her cheek drifting open where the crack had sliced it. Then-it  _fractured._ The crack broke into several little spider lines, reaching out to the borders of the mirror, through several sections of her face, her neck, her chest. She wasn't bleeding, though. She just looked like a weird human doll just about to shatter. She couldn't feel any pain, but a foggy part of her brain just told her it was going to catch up sooner or later. A sharp agony digging into the back of Angela's neck was just what she needed to find the strength in her legs to run back towards the front door, wrapping her hands around her face and holding her arms close in fear that she'd fall to pieces before she escaped. She didn't, though.

A grinning member of the Lost Boys watched her leave, bringing a bloodied claw to his lips. " _Two minutes_ ," he called out to his brothers in their minds to the darkened corners of the funhouse where they waited for their own targets. " _Beat that."_

* * *

Grandpa decided to get another snow cone. Sam really wished he knew how the old man's head worked, but there were only so many problems he could tackle in one night. Finding out his brother had  _murdered_ someone was a little higher on his list right now. He replayed his fight with Michael in his head, and his mom's blow-up, and his vague attempts to talk to grandpa about the idea that maybe his brother had tried to off the head vampire and died in the process.

Sam really wished he knew which was worse. Losing his brother forever, or finding out he'd lost it and turned into a monster. A week ago his biggest problem was losing his MTV and finding a decent place to go school shopping for new threads. Now? Now Sam was numbly walking towards the Frog Brothers' comic shop while grandpa picked out a snow cone flavor to drive home with. This was seriously screwed-up.

"Hi guys, you remember that plan you had to stake Mike?" Sam asked the empty space in front of him, still standing outside the comic shop where they couldn't see him. "Yeah, no. Not that." He fiddled with the bottom of his shirt. He couldn't kill his brother. He just couldn't. Sam couldn't honestly believe he'd be able to bring himself to pay someone else to do it either. Even if he had the money.

"So you know how to cure a half-shitsucker. What about a full-blown neck-chomping psychopath?" Sam didn't like the sound of that either. Shit. What was he going to do?

He cleared his throat, rehearsing the only other opening line he could thing of when he finally worked up the nerve to walk in and talk to Edgar and Alan Frog, "Mike's cured! Somebody must've offed the head vampire! Just curious though, you guys sure you don't know if there's a way to cure a vampire who already made his first kill? I mean-just in case?"

"Nope. Gotta stake every last one. That's the only cure." Edgar interrupted Sam's theatrical display, stepping outside to straighten up the comics in a rolling cart, "not surprised he's back to normal. Killed the head vampire myself just this morning. Where've you been?"

It took a Herculean feat of inner strength  _not_ to scream like a girl when Ed sneaked up on him like that, but somehow Sam managed to bite it back and turned what would've been an ear splitting sheek into a clipped giggle, that frankly didn't sound much better. "Oh, yeah, sure. Just checking. Ya never know, right Ed?" He paused, "wait,  _you_ killed him? How?"

Sam couldn't believe his ears. Not only did Ed  _know_ the head vampire got dusted, he was actually taking credit for it? His brain very nearly short-circuited trying to figure that out, but he crossed his arms and waited for an explanation anyway. Because he needed the time to calm down anyway, and this story ought to at least fill in a few blanks, even if it was an outright lie.

Edgar frog's eyes darted around once he'd finished sorting the comics in the cart. Sam wondered if he wasn't stalling for time. "It's not safe to talk out here. At night. You never know if they're watching," he turned around and stalked back into the comic shop with Sam on his tail. Hopefully this didn't take to long or he'd have to explain to grandpa why he'd spent an hour talking to the insane friends who'd tried drowning him in holy water.

"So there we were, standing outside the kitchen window," Edgar launched into the story the second he stepped into the shop. Sam's eyes wandered over to Alan, who watched them quiently from the front counter while he counted out change for a customer. A fanged human skull sat beside him, and Sam bit back a whimper. Now he was even more confused.

"Your mom's boyfriend caught us. I guess you screwed up when you were trying to test him inside, because he was definitely a bonafide neck jockey."

At least Ed and Mike's story had  _something_ in common. Sam was seriously tempted to find every last vampire comic in this stupid shop and burn it. Their advice cost him time, their little tips cost him his  _brother._ Reflections, holy water, garlic-it was all a lie! It was-

"Did someone invite him in?" Alan called out, just as his customer shuffled away, giving both Ed and Sam a judgmental side-eye. Probably thought Sam was just as crazy as the Frog brothers.

"Invite?" Sam repeated, frowning, "I didn't. Grandpa probably didn't."

Edgar prodded Sam's shoulder, "what about your brother?"

"Why would he do that? Why does it matter?" Sam was sure his voice had gone up at least an octave in a half. Mike just teamed up with his butt-munch fiend-of-the-night biker buddies (and it was definitely those guys, he'd  _seen_ where Mike stormed off after their argument). He had no reason to invite Max in when he killed the guy right after. If Sam was a cartoon right now, he'd have steam pouring out of his ears from his short-circuiting brain.

"You invite a vampire in and you can't do much. You can stake him. That's it. Invitations are a golden ticket for bloodsuckers. You invite one in and you're not passing go." Ed paused, and it was very clearly for a dramatic effect he was incapable of really conveying. He went on anyway, and Sam didn't stop him because he  _had to know_ at least a little more of the story. Even if half of it was bull, there'd be some truth to it. Some reason Mike-gave up?

"Lucky for you, me and Alan had him figured out anyway. Followed him to his white-picketed commie hangout. Kept him talking all night, tricked him into thinking we'd be easy meals, then-bam!" Edgar clapped his hands, eliciting a jump from both Sam and Alan, "lights out for Dracula." He paused again, waiting for some sort of response. When it wasn't exactly forthcoming, he opened his mouth again "so. You're welcome."

"You gotta be kidding me," Sam blurted out, "so you're telling me you snuck up on him?"

Edgar placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, "no, Sam Emerson. We overpowered him. There was no way any bloodsucker could take both of the Frogs on at once. Isn't that right, Alan?" He looked back at his brother by the counter.

"Yeah. That happened," Alan agreed, somewhat less emphatically. "We overpowered him."

"The holy water helped," Edgar added. "So you did a little of the work. I guess his shirt was still wet or something and once he had time to relax with us it started to burn. Something like that." He made that part of his fairytale sound like a footnote. Sam wasn't sure how he felt about it. Bad enough they were lying through their teeth, now they double-backing on blaming his family for screwing up the vampire test and acting like some of it actually worked. Sam didn't even know why he was going to bother asking his next question.

"Are you sure there's not a kill-once they've killed? Nothing we can do?"

Edgar lowered his face and leaned in towards Sam conspiratorially, "why? What happened?"

"Nothing," Sam lied, backing away a little, "it's just that you say Santa Carla's crawling with vampires, so wouldn't it be better if we could fix them? Y'know, some kinda rehab for shit-suckers?"

"No," Edgar insisted, "not a chance."

"Well-" Alan began, cutting himself off when they both looked at him just as intensely, Ed with a scowl and Sam with wide-eyed hope he struggled to keep under wraps, "I mean we haven't tried it. Maybe nobody has. Could try weaning them off the liquid diet. If we could get a hold of one, keep them from  _biting._ Or ripping our throats out. Or crushing our spines.

"Yeah, okay," Sam replied weakly.

"Maybe ripping out our eyes, splitting our stomachs open to see what's inside. Breaking every single bone in our bodies-"

"We get it, Alan." Ed was the one to interrupt him, surprisingly enough. He actually looked a couple shades paler. Even Edgar Frog had his limits, apparently. "Chain em up. Don't see why, though."

"Most of them probably don't even know what they're doing," Sam argued, "right? They're just freaky addicts with a few perks. Maybe they'd be grateful-maybe they'd even help us or  _pay_ us after the fact if we fixed them." He paused, realizing what he was suddenly proposing. Capturing his brother, somehow avoiding the rest of the vampires without getting killed in the process,  _and_ relying on the Frog brothers to do it. He didn't even know where they'd get the chains, or how the hell they'd keep it a secret from mom. Maybe grandpa would have a few ideas…

"So it'd be good money," Alan agreed, speaking slowly as he caught on to what Sam was saying. "There's probably a lot more vampires out there than people trying to get rid of them. We could win a Nobel prize."

"Uh, yeah. Sure," Sam agreed, noting that maybe Alan wasn't  _that_ much smarter than his brother.

"So it's decided," Ed nodded solemnly, reaching for Sam's hand, "we're mean, bad monster bashers. Let's do this."

Sam nodded, grabbing Ed's hand in turn. It wasn't the best idea, but it was a plan. For all he knew, maybe Mike would be back to his old self by the time school started. If not, well, there was always the  _other_ option. Sam didn't even want to think about it.

* * *

"It's easy," David whispered, looking around at the cheesy scenery of their chosen room and victim who had rushed ahead of all his friends with his camera at the ready. "Once you get the hang of it. Just follow my lead."

"I don't-" Michael started, shutting up abruptly when the kid came too close to the giant fibreglass tombstone they were hiding behind. A couple of actors had wondered by earlier, guys too old to care if anyone was actually in here. Glorified janitors in grease paint. He was sure he recognized one or two of them from the trash pick-up job he'd done a few days ago just to buy his jacket. Seemed like forever.

" _Hey, trust me_ ," David assured him using the odd mental telephone line they seemed to share.

" _That's the kinda shit you probably tell girls before you snap their necks in the backseat, isn't it?"_ Michael replied, meeting David's eyes in the dark. This was entirely too comfortable, huddling in this crummy excuse for a carnival scene beside the blonde, hardly enough space to breathe in. Not that he needed to, but the concept was pretty much the same. Any shred of fear he'd had the night before when he'd been on the very edge of losing his humanity was entirely forgotten.

" _Yeah,"_ David agreed, dragging his gaze back towards the boy with the stupid camera, who probably couldn't see much beyond a few shapes in the dark. David had flipped off half the lights a couple of minutes ago to 'set the scene'.

"Cindy?" he called out, keeping his arms in front of him to avoid bumping into anything.

David grinned, wrapping clawed fingers around the side of the fake tombstone," _you ever have any bad dreams, Michael?"_

" _A couple,"_ Michael admitted, growing impatient. The blonde was excited. He didn't have to be watching him to know it, he could  _feel_ it. Michael noticed that a lot tonight. When Paul got overzealous about something, or Marko seemed particularly sneaky, or even Dwayne's exasperation when he'd tried to keep Paul from jokingly nipping at a girl's neck in the crowd. Michael felt all of it. David especially. Seemed like he was perpetually turned on by some chick or another outside.

" _Just watch,"_ David advised, " _I'll show you how it's done."_  He edged back in the darkness to run his hands along the wall, still just hidden from the wondering human's view. He drug his claw along the black painted wallpaper, small curls of it following in his wake until he stopped at the light switches and flicked them on, one by one, washing the room in blue light. Somehow the set pieces seemed just a little more than just cheap props.

The boy snatched up his camera, more like a shield than what he'd initially intended it for. "Cindy, stop messing around." He stated calmly, "if that's you, just come out."

David kept his gaze trained on the human, stepping away from the light switches and gliding forward, not seeming to care if he went unseen. Michael was about to say something when David raised a hand to silence him, still focused on the task at hand.

"Rick," David called out, but the boy didn't turn back to look at him. He spun towards the half-mannequin David had left in the corner of the room, arms extended in the unnatural way only the dead and the inanimate could manage.

"Cindy!" Rick yelped, rushing towards the mannequin and kneeling dad, "oh god, oh god, what happened? Somebody help us!" He shouted, putting a hand to 'Cindy's' plastic skull.

"Rick, help me," David pleaded with absolutely no emotion. Just flat words spoken from an unwritten script. "He took my legs."

" _What?!_ " Rick exclaimed, looking around, gripping the mannequin's arms tightly and pulling it towards him. That was all it took for one to pop out of its socket and slip from his grasp. Rick's jaw dropped, "Jesus Christ! CIndy! Your arm!"

David let out a faint cry, "you ripped it off! You ripped off my arm!"

Michael couldn't hold back his laughter, which only freaked the boy out even more as he screamed in terror and tried to cling to what was left of the mutilated plastic person in his arms.

"Rick, oh god, Rick you're squeezing me too tight! I can hear him coming!" David went on, eyes sliding over to look at Michael. He spoke through a smile of his own, though he remained calm while he performed this odd little show.

The human shrieked, trying to lift up the mannequin in his arms, but stumbling in the process. It couldn't have seriously been that heavy.

Gaining control of his laughter, Michael sent David a mental question, " _what the fuck is even going on?"_

" _Everyone's a little crazy,"_ David explained, " _sometimes a little less than others. They can't tell the difference between what we tell them here-"_ he tapped on his forehead for clarification, " _or whether it's their own thought. So say something to him. See what happens."_

By now the human had almost made it to the door with his burden, weeping and stumbling, his apparent desires to take pictures of the room all but forgotten. "I shouldn't have brought us here. Cindy, I'm sorry! Help! Help!

Michael focused on him, trying to come up with what to say. Something to make this worse. David had done just about everything he could imagine. " _Uh. She's closing her eyes now and she's dead."_ He paused. " _Blood's pouring out of her mouth now. Roaches, too. Her head looks like it's about to fall off. Uh…"_ He trailed off, unsure where to go from there.

Rick let out an earth shattering scream, and it seemed like everything Michael had just described in the teenager's mind had actually happen, except all the vampires saw was a teenager having a breakdown with half of a mannequin in his arms. Then the door opened, and a girl waved at him.

"You get your balls trapped in your zipper or something? What's wrong with you? Why are you-"

Rick looked back at the mannequin in his arms in horror and flung it across the room, only to rush forward and grab the girl by the hand, "Cindy, we've got to go. NOW!" From there, he made a run for it, dragging the confused and angry girl behind her.

"You're nuts!" She shouted, and that was all Michael heard before David broke into a fit of laughter.

"Dwayne's going to have fun with those two," David managed between laughs, and Michael couldn't help but join him. He was lucky for him they'd just pulled the stupid Chinese food trick. God knows what else they could've done if they'd wanted.


	11. Head Over Heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Star leaves. Sam and grandpa talk. Paul pushes Dwayne's buttons.

Star had waited as long as she could. Maybe Michael wasn't coming home. She felt sick at the thought. They hadn't parted on the best of terms when they last spoke, his rejection still stinging like a slap to the face. Star didn't blame Michael for being angry. She wished she could do it all over again-but if he had something to do with fixing her and Laddie, she wanted to talk to him. She wanted to know how. She wanted to thank him and maybe find out what they could have been together if David had never entered her life.

"Are you ready to go?" Star asked Laddie, looking up at him from the kitchen table. He'd finished packing all of their things and brought them downstairs. She'd promised him she was going to make sure he got home to his mom and dad as quickly as she could manage, so spending another night here was out of the question.

Laddie smiled in that wide, joyful way she'd wanted to see from the moment they met, "I'm ready when you are, Star!"

"Okay, just give me a couple minutes. I'm almost done."

She looked back down at her letter, debating whether or not it was even a good idea to leave one. They'd wandered into each other's lives on a summer breeze and shore-soaked sands. Maybe it was best if she left the same way. Yet-Star squinted at the letter and re-read it one more time.

_Michael,_

_I'm taking Laddie home. I want to thank you for everything. I know I should have told you the truth. I should have just blown you off again, but I liked you. I like you. I won't be back for awhile. I need to get out of Santa Carla and live for a little while. I tried to wait for you, but you didn't come home. Will you wait for me?_

_Star_

She'd taken a lot from him, just like David had taken a lot from her, but this time Star would leave it up to Michael to decide. In the meantime, she was going to try to shake the bad memories. Maybe next summer, they  _could_  be more. Maybe.

* * *

Curtis turned back, expecting to find Angela behind him. She must've gotten lost in the mirror room. Darn. He should've been paying more attention. Rick's cousin was the girl of his dreams and now she probably thought he was the kind of jerk to just ditch her in a funhouse. Or maybe she'd even gone ahead of him. It was hard to tell, once he'd made his way through the mirror room past a couple of satin curtains and took a couple of turns down a maze-like hall of numbered doors and paintings of neon green monsters pointing in every direction.

He stopped at a door without any numbers on it. Maybe if he was lucky, it was a faster path to the exit. An employee entrance or something. Curtis could just wait outside if it was and pretend he'd bullied his way through the whole corny monstrosity. Angela would think he was tough, and he wouldn't have to test any of the weird local stories about the place. Rumor had it the whole high school football team tried to camp out here about a decade ago and not  _one_ of them could string a sentence together about what they'd seen without breaking into tears or nearly wetting themselves. It hadn't been a good game season that year.

Now that Curtis really let himself picture all the freaky things some people said they saw, or that a friend of a friend had seen-Curtis's imagination took the wheel and he had to fight his urge to literally  _run_ once he yanked open the door to what would hopefully be his escape.

It turned out to be the very last thing he'd have imagined from Santa Carla's Nightmare on the Boardwalk Funhouse. An employee break room complete with a coffee maker propped up on a lop-sided plastic table,, two chairs, and a questionably greasy-looking refrigerator two decades past its prime. The only thing that seemed out of place were the coats and colorful costumes hanging on a wall-rack near the back of the room. Were there actors at the funhouse? Did they get dressed back here?

Someone must have been in the room recently. The light was on and there was at least half a pot of coffee left. Not to mention the place reeked of fresh cigarette smoke. It wasn't cozy by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something very sobering about having a behind-the-scenes glimpse of the funhouse.

"Just stories," Curtis mumbled, laughing it off in the peculiar shaky way a person has when there's a distinct lack of anything funny to really laugh about. It was like turning on the light in a dark bedroom. Logically, he knew he shouldn't have been scared of this place. Not really. It was just a hokey carnival spot. A cheap plywood attraction with really good advertising. Now that 'the light' was on, he realized how silly it was to think there would be any bogeymen here waiting to get him.

As he turned to leave, and hopefully find the  _right_ door to the exit, a loud metallic creak echoed from behind him and drug its fingers up his spine. It was blades on a chalkboard. A cat shrieking in his ears. There was  _nothing_ about that sound that made Curtis want to look and find out what it was. So why, then, did he find himself slowly looking back over his shoulder?

It was the fridge door. Just the fridge. That was all. Unthinking, and perhaps because he was immensely relieved not to be face to face with a psychopathic ghost or something else equally as disturbing, Curtis crossed the room to close the fridge door-except, it was opening wider now, and it didn't just drift open, it slammed its handle into the wall and very nearly embedded itself there.

Curtis yelped, jumping back when he caught an eyeful of what was in the fridge. On the top shelf, tucked beside a half-empty (and probably expired) carton of milk, were three ice-crusted heads. They looked like they'd been moved down from the freezer compartment to thaw.

Distantly, he began to wonder if he was dreaming, and when he tried to scream all that seemed to come out was a quivering breath punctuated by a squeak. He couldn't even get his feet to move.

"John?" A loud, gruff voice called out from the hallway, "you find the rest of them teenagers yet? Caught a few of my own tonight. Two gals and a pissant with a camera. Gonna eat good tonight!"

_Cut them up? Cannibal carnies?! Jesus Christ!_

"You sure are quiet in there. You need any help, John? Got the hatchet good and ready. Cuts through bone  _real_ nice." The stranger in the hallway went on, and his voice was getting louder. Any second now Curtis was done for if he didn't act fast.

He didn't have much time, and there was no way he was going to make it out of this room the same way he came in. It made him sick to think of it, but Curtis didn't have time to figure out anything else. He reached into the putrid fridge and tore out the middle shelf, clutching it to his chest. There still wasn't enough room. No way he could fit in there-not unless he…

It looked like the heads were staring back at him now, accusing him of something awful. He could almost swear one of them was hissing words from between its cold blue lips, maybe even his name.

"I think I feel like singing, John! Remember those good ol' tunes we used to make together back in Kentucky?" The voice in the hall shouted, so close Curtis could see shadows beneath the door.

Silent tears dripped down Curtis's cheeks as he lowered the shelf grate he'd already taken out and used his free hand to grab the canister of old milk first, moving it to the top of the fridge. Then he set the grate in the small space between the fridge in the wall. He prayed the maniac outside (or even the John guy he kept calling) wouldn't look in the fridge, or notice the grate wasn't in there anymore.

_Please, god, just don't let me die. I promise I'll stop pissing off my little sister. I'll take the dog out more often. I'll stop lying to my mom about the missing socks. Please!_

Curtis grabbed each head in turn, lowering it to the very bottom shelf of the fridge just above the crisper, biting back the urge to dry heave. These things were not only heavy, because he'd never really imagined the weight of a human head, but their hair was almost  _sticky._ They stank. They were probably rotten.

"Curtis." That time he  _knew_ he heard one of them whisper his name! It was too late to do anything else but climb into the fridge now, scooting as far inside as he could manage and thanking god for his chicken legs before he reached out to the fridge door to gently pull it shut. It didn't even strike him for a second how warm the inside of the fridge seemed. One less thing to worry about.

"Hey, John!" The guy was in the room now. Curtis just knew it. He shifted one of his feet against the side of the fridge wall. He shivered as he felt his thigh press up against two of the heads. It was impossible to  _not_ touch them right now. The space was too small.

"How about this old knee slapper!" The maniac went on, clearing his throat. Curtis couldn't believe how clear his voice sounded. Like he was whispering directly into his ear. "Cuddle up a little closer oh lovey mine!" Holy crap, he was singing now. "Cuddle up and be my clinging vine, like to feel your cheeks so-" The fridge door slammed open before he could even register the last word. Black dots appeared in his vision until everything seemed to fade.

"Damn it, Paul!" Were the last three words he registered before passing out.

* * *

"You got something you wanna talk about?" Grandpa Emerson asked, his eyes focused on the road ahead. A hint of red and blue dye from the snowcones colored the whiskers around his lips. He didn't seem the least bit upset. He just looked  _normal._ As normal as he usually was, at any rate.

"Why'd you let him go?" Sam asked, not sure whether he meant last night when his brother was still sort of human or tonight when they'd just stood by and watched him walk back to those bikers and disappear. Was he killing someone right now? How many people were going to die because Sam hadn't done a better job at protecting him?

"Couldn't have stopped him," the old man shrugged, turning his wheel. "Can't say I'm happy about it. He made his choice, whether he was thinking straight or not. So we got three choices. Let him go or don't think about it too much."

Sam looked over at his grandpa with a disbelieving stare, "what's the third choice?"

They didn't say anything else for the rest of the ride home. Sam wanted to believe the old weirdo had just sort of forgotten he'd even asked the question. He was crazy enough for Sam to believe it. Except, he made it a point to avoid even looking at Sam when he parked the jeep and stalked into the house. Sam ran to keep up with him, ready to ask again if he had to. He needed to hear it.

"What's the third choice, grandpa?" Sam demanded, watching his grandpa stalk towards his workroom to tackle some late night pickled bobcat or freeze-dried owl project.

Grandpa emerson stood still for a moment, neither turning back to look at him, nor moving to reach for the door handle to his workshop where he'd be safe from any questions or emotional pleas.

"You used to have an uncle, you know that? I miss him, Sam. Even if we did the right thing, I still miss him. I can't do it again. You make your choice." Then he was gone, and Sam very nearly followed.

* * *

They left the fridge door open and the passed-out teenager sprawled out on the floor beside the terrifying wig forms Dwayne had chosen for the game. Paul had ruined it, of course, just because he couldn't keep up with a couple of teenagers running too fast for him before he could even set up his own scene. He seemed to have just as much fun screwing up Dwayne's night as Marko's. They were always the victims of his assholery.

"So you picked a wimp, not my fault," Paul defended himself, leaving the door ajar for someone to find the teenager. They'd even been kind enough to pour the spoilt milk all over the teen's shirt just so the smell would draw more attention. Paul's asinine idea, of course.

Dwayne growled, "I was doing just fine before you came up with that fucking ragtime routine."

Paul cackled, dodging the other vampire's arm as it nearly slammed into his chest. "I thought I was pretty good."

The rules were pretty simple. No touching, no eating, and fainting was an automatic loss (because they had to at least dial back the game enough not to bring an army of torch-wielding locals around to burn the funhouse down and ruin the fun). Dwayne came so close to breaking his old record.

"You do this and you wonder why David always wins," Dwayne grumbled, stopping to read a small (and quite lyrical) poem about a popular double-jointed girl named Sally that was scratched in pen on one of the doors.

Paul rolled his eyes, "why's it matter? This is fun. That's what it's supposed to be."

"Winning is fun," Dwayne replied, not even looking at Paul now. He'd rather read graffiti bullshit than listen to it.

"Your thing was lame as shit anyway, so get over it," Paul taunted, daring Dwayne to swipe at him again. He was bobbing on his heels now, filled with manic energy. "Why're you being such a pussy?"

"Well, you're a dick, so it makes sense," Marko chimed in from behind them, making a sudden appearance in his typical imp-like fashion. He was good at that sort of thing. Nobody ever seemed to notice Marko until it was too late, and by then they were already half-dead. "You girls were made for each other," he added, grinning when he earned two equally moody scowls.

"So what was your time?" Dwayne asked, walking ahead of them in the direction that their link to David seemed to pull them. It had gotten a lot stronger when they exchanged blood and finally severed their ties to Max. There was no overbearing nature to their connection either. They'd been so used to the former head vampire's presence for so long, that being freed from him once and for all in favor of one of their own was almost too good to be true.

Marko bit the thumb of his glove, grinning, "two minutes."

"Mine would've been a minute in a half," Dwayne stated flatly. "Maybe less."

Paul rolled his eyes, throwing an arm around Dwayne's shoulder, "c'mon, that shit was lame. Kid probably would've just closed the fridge and walked out if I didn't show up."

Sometimes it was best to just let Paul talk to himself until he got tired of the sound. Not that he ever did.

"You could rip his arm off and beat him with it. I won't tell David," Marko suggested to Dwayne, only half-joking.

Dwayne seriously considered the idea for a moment, and the thought was so graphic that Paul was on the opposite end of the hallway faster than Dwayne could blink. The limb wouldn't grow back, but if he held onto it long enough, it might re-attach. A process none of the boys cared to experience-again.

"Not cool, man," Paul remarked as he dug a joint from one of his pockets and a zippo from the other with a couple of bloody fingerprints on the lid he hadn't bothered to wipe off. A trophy from some asshole who tried to pull a hit and run on Marko last fall. They'd dismember each other in good fun, but were fiercely protective when others tried it.

"Playing nice, kids?" David's voice cut into their plans to play Mr. Potato Head with Paul's arm, effectively catching their attention as he strolled down the hall with Michael not too far behind. "I'd hate to have to teach you a family lesson," he added in a dry imitation of their deceased sire. "Over seventy years, Paul, and you're still an asshole."

"I do my best," Paul agreed, focusing on his joint as he flipped the zippo open and lit it.

"Seventy?" Michael asked, a little surprised. Why wouldn't he be? If they all acted their real ages they'd have rented out plots at the Sunny Acres cemetery years ago.

"Or eighty. Something like that." David waved a hand. "You start to lose track after a while."

"How old are  _you_?" Michael asked him, looking David up and down.

"Old enough to have banged your great grandma and her grandma, too young to have fucked Betsy Ross," Marko cut in.

"Thanks for that, Marko," Michael replied, cringing at the mental image of wrinkles and crinoline, which all the others got an unpleasant impression of in the process.

"Glad I've got this," Paul croaked through several small balls of smoke forming from his lips. "Betcha Max would've had a go at them too."

Even if he'd never met his great grandma or the other one, Michael didn't seem to appreciate the remark, "fuck you, Paul."

"That a promise?" Paul cooed, offering the joint to Michael despite the remark. David shook his head in silent warning for the younger vampire to stay far away from it, so Michael passed.

"You gotta get used to the shit he smokes," Dwayne explained, "Paul's stuff would drop an elephant."

David smirked, leading the way towards the funhouse entrance, now that they'd run out of victims for the night. Couldn't go after the janitors or the guys who ran the place. Someone had to keep it open, after all.

Michael walked alongside David, and it didn't escape Dwayne's notice how much their leader seemed to enjoy the closeness. Not that it wasn't obvious the second Michael threw a punch at him at Hudson's Bluff and David all but commanded them explicitly  _not_ to rip the brunette to shreds. Dwayne pondered whether he'd take Marko up on that bet after all. He gave it a week or two before something happened. After all, they had nothing better to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That song Paul sang? It's an actual tune from the early 1900s. Pretty catchy, too.


	12. A Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy and Maria talk. Alan, Ed, and a customer talk. Michael and David talk too. Everybody talks.

"No, I'm sorry, we close strictly at ten. We'll be open bright and early tomorrow, but I'm afraid you have to make your rental now or never," Lucy explained patiently to the group of twenty-somethings. Lord knew they'd taken their time examining each and very video tape in the store. The particularly dazed look one of the girls had was one she hadn't been unfamiliar with when she was the same age. Lucy didn't miss those days very much.

"We've got money," the loudest of the group protested, "why can't you just give us five more minutes?"

Lucy's pained expression seemed to be just the trick to drawing Maria's attention to the front counter, so she left her dirt devil near the back shelf and strode over, "she said we're closed, so beat it. You guys do this every week with the same story. If your car sucks so much you can't make it here half an hour before we lock up, then you've got bigger problems than movies. Go on, go away," she made an impatient gesture with her hand, making the neon plastic bracelets on her arm click together.

It wasn't until they'd finally locked up and Lucy grabbed her clutch purse from the back room that she pulled Maria aside to talk. She didn't feel right bringing this up with people in the store, and they hadn't had a free minute all day with the sudden summer night rush that seemed to hit all at once.

"What's up?" Maria asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she adjusted her chain-handled purse over her shoulder. She was such a pretty girl. In a way, she reminded Lucy of the one staying at her house. Maybe just a little more talkative.

"Have you heard from Max at all today? He was supposed to be here tonight to help close, and I was just wondering if you knew anything." It mortified Lucy to think her son's behavior had anything to do with this. Surely Max wasn't too upset. He'd assured her several times before he left after dinner how he perfectly understood that Sam was just acting out for attention. Maybe Max had decided to stay home to perfect the perfect break-up letter and pink slip all in one neatly-written page complete with bullet points and an additional cover sheet. No. Max wasn't like that. He was a good man.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing," Maria replied, neatly sculpted eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Did something happen between you two last night?"

"What?" Lucy tried to hide the surprise in her voice, "no, oh no. No. Not at all." She did not hide it very well.

"Hey, it's none of my business," Maria quickly replied, "sorry I asked." She paused, looking thoughtful while she drummed a couple of acrylic red nails on the countertop. "Hey!" She snapped her fingers, "he's got a couple businesses, so maybe something came up. If he didn't have time to call, or he got stuck in traffic, we can't blame him."

Lucy smiled, "you're right. You're absolutely right. I'm just a little worried." Max had mentioned a quiet supper at his house this evening just after closing the store. Lucy wasn't so sure what to do now. She couldn't just stand him up, and it would take a little while to get home. If he wasn't there-his dog was enough of a deterrent to make her think twice about showing up.

"Do you mind if I make a quick call before we lock up?" Lucy asked, looking back at the phone behind the video counter.

"You go ahead," Maria waved her off, "do what you gotta do."

He didn't answer. His machine, however, did. "Hello, this is Maxwell Peters. I'm afraid I can't come to the phone at the moment. If you'll leave your name and phone number, and the reason you're calling, I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Keep in mind, I don't receive or make phone calls before six pm."

Lucy hung up before leaving a message, deciding she would just drive to his house and see if his car was there. Then she'd know he was home without causing a fuss. She just didn't have the energy tonight. Not after blowing up on Sam and Michael. Yes, she had good reason, but Lucy still didn't enjoy it. She'd never really lost her temper with them before, and it was worrying. Their first day in Santa Carla seemed like such a good start and now she didn't know why everything was going so wrong.

Her hand hovered over the phone's keypad for a good half minute or so as she debated whether or not she should try calling again, when Lucy looked over at the counter and realized Maria was watching her. It wasn't with the disinterested impatience of a girl who wanted to lock up and go home, but something else. Pity? Lucy had grown tired of that look in Phoenix, and she was tired of it now.

"I guess he's not home," Lucy said, trying to make it sound like she was just commenting on the weather or a popular movie they needed to restock on the shelf tomorrow. Instead the words came out sounding like a hesitant whisper. Something like the sound she'd make if she was on the verge of tears. She wasn't that upset about Max, but all of this stress in one day-one week-it was beginning to get to her.

"Shoot," Maria replied, "girl, get out of your head! Look, there's a bar down the boardwalk that's open for another couple of hours, why don't we just grab a drink and talk, huh? You look like you could use it."

Lucy shook her head, "I'm fine. I'm just tired, it's okay."

"Okay, you're fine. So you're going to make me walk down there at night all alone in the murder capital of the world?" Maria prompted, "I'm getting a drink whether you are or not, so why don't you just go with me." She bit her bottom lip and wiggled her eyebrows just a little, "huh? C'mon."

"You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"

"Nope," Maria replied, reaching across the counter to tug on Lucy's free hand that wasn't hovering over the phone, "you need it."

Lucy gently pulled her hand away and stepped away from the phone with the resolve  _not_ to call him again, Maria's warmth doing something to relieve her of at least a small portion of the nervous energy she hadn't even realized she was holding in, "do I really look that bad?"

"Nah. You look great." Maria assured her. "I just want a drink. It's ladies night."

"Okay, I'll go with you, but I'm only having one glass of wine."

"We'll see," Maria replied, smirking as she turned away to stride quickly towards the door.

"One drink," Lucy repeated firmly.

"One drink. Got it." Maria replied, and Lucy wasn't entirely certain she was convinced.

* * *

"Mom and dad in bed?" Alan called out from the kitchen as he scrounged for dinner.

"Yeah," Edgar replied, flipping on the tv. "Passed out with their shoes on," he added casually. It'd only be weird if they actually  _had_ managed to change before bed. As far as parents went, they weren't bad people. They were just sort of half-there. They kept the fridge stocked. They paid the bills. They managed all the basic stuff, at least. But if they maybe paid a little more attention to their sons, Edgar and Alan might never have started their hunting business on the side. Or made it a habit to get called into the office every other friday during the school year since the fourth grade.

"Frito pie and pepsi?" Alan suggested, snatching a half-empty bag of fritos from the kitchen counter.

"What else do we have?" Edgar asked, scowling. He hated frito pie.

"We've got coca cola." Alan paused, "and Shasta. I think there's still a couple of cheese pizzas in the freezer."

"Just put something together, we've got a lot of planning to do tonight," Edgar told him, surveying the map he'd left out on the coffee table. Well, crude drawing of a map anyway. They were going to start getting more serious with their flyers, and they were trying to figure out where they'd get the most attention. "Have we tried the old folks home yet?"

"Yeah, they told us not to come back, remember?" Alan busied himself in the kitchen, tossing all the ingredients for frito pie into a large mixing bowl and popping it into the microwave. It'd be burnt on the top and cold in the middle, but it was way too late at night for him to bother with the oven. He popped the tab on a can of Pepsi and waited for the food to cook. He wasn't standing around for long when the kitchen and living room phones began to ring. Maybe Sam had another idea. Had he somehow snagged a bloodsucker already? The idea seemed laughable.

"Got it!" Edgar shouted from the living room as the ringing cut off. "Hello? Yeah? Yeah? Right. No. Go on. Fifty bucks. Forty. Okay. We'll get right on it. What's your number?"

It was too surreal listening to one half of a conversation, so Alan reached for the kitchen phone hanging up on the wall by the fridge, ignoring the beep of the microwave to signal that their burnt chili-covered feast was ready.

"I don't know what happened to Angela, we can't even get her to talk. Curtis wet himself. Cops will just call us crazy. Listen, what I'm getting at is I'll probably have to pay in installments, and I probably wouldn't even call you guys if I hadn't found that old comic book you gave me last summer. I don't know or care how you do it, I just want whatever's in that funhouse gone. You don't just hunt vampires, I mean, you can kill things without legs that look like people you know and puke up roaches when they're mad, right?"

Alan hung up the phone, convinced someone was just making a stupid prank call. Edgar sounded way too excited to tell him otherwise right now, so he just let it go and focused on the masterpiece he'd tossed in the microwave. Cooked it a little too long. He could probably just cover it with more cheese and fritos. Edgar probably wouldn't notice.

* * *

Michael sat up, wiping the blood from his chin and looking down at his victim disinterestedly. What had once been a living person lost all his appeal when he didn't have any blood left to share. Now he was just like a crumpled soda can on the beach. A leftover to be covered up or thrown out.

"Done?" David asked, standing at a distance under the peer with the others, watching the tide foaming up nearby. Not quite far enough to reach them.

"Yeah," Michael replied, making a mental note to keep a handkerchief or something in his pocket to clean himself up next time as he improvised by finding the one spot on the dead guy's shirt that  _wasn't_ saturated with blood or grime. He was just a drifter who picked a bad camping spot. Too bad for him.

Tearing the scrap of fabric from the dead guy's shirt, Michael used it to scrub at the lower portion of his face as he climbed to his feet and strolled casually towards the pier. Too dark out here for any normal person to see them, so he wasn't really worried whether he looked like a victim from some horrible accident or just a messy cannibal.

Michael looked down at his shirt and jeans. The spare clothes he'd found at the hotel last night after his first kill worked just fine, but he'd honestly prefer some clothes that didn't smell like dirt and must, "I've gotta go home tonight."

"Why?" David asked, almost a little too quickly. He knew Michael wasn't talking about the hotel.

"Clothes," Michael indicated his shirt and jeans, "I really don't think I can pull of this look for long."

"Hey, looks good," Marko joked, "the red really brings out your eyes."

David seemed to relax a little, eyeing Michael's shirt, "can't do that every night. You'll run out of stuff in a couple of weeks."

Michael's eyebrows shot up, "how often am I supposed to kill people?"

"Pretty often," Dwayne told him, nudging a half-broken shell in the sand with the tip of his shoe, "takes a couple years before the cravings die down a little."

"Great," Michael grumbled, trying to squeeze out a little of the excess from his shirt. A couple of drops at least. "So every time we hang out I'm going to have to make a pit stop by a drifter before bed?"

David's smile was slow to form, like a dozen hidden thoughts were rushing through his mind before he decided which one to say aloud, "no. There's plenty of choices out there. Night guards. Streetwalkers. Insomniac joggers. We can even share when the picking's slim. How's that sound?"

"Doesn't solve my shirt problem," Michael pointed out, not even pausing to think much about the blood sharing thing. Didn't seem like a big deal.

"Okay, how about this," David dug into his pocket for a handkerchief, offering it to Michael when he'd thoroughly used up the shredded piece of shirt, "we go to your old place tonight, pick up a few things, and we can go shopping tomorrow if it's such a big deal."

"All of us?" Michael asked, glancing over at the others, unsure whether he trusted them entirely not to take a bite out of his grandpa, mom, or brother. For him, they were still family. Maybe not in the same way they used to be, but they were  _his._ None of the others had that same hang-up about them as anything besides food.

"You don't trust me?" Paul inquired, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was digging into Michael's thoughts.

"No," Michael replied flatly. Not upset, just honest. "I don't."

David glanced over at Dwayne, Paul, and Marko in turn before speaking,"they'll go back to the hotel and I'll go with you. Better?" He raised an eyebrow, "you trust  _me_ , don't you, Michael?"

He probably shouldn't, given the twisted path that led him to become a member of this pack, but instincts guided Michael's answer more than anything, "yeah. For the most part." It felt oddly gratifying when David's smile deepened in response.

It was easier to take their bikes back to the hotel first, so they didn't have to worry about strapping a duffel bag to one of them. Michael left his jacket on the couch and borrowed another leftover shirt and pair of jeans buried in one of the many piles of trinkets and leftovers of countless meals. He could put up with the smell for now if it meant not having to explain the blood stains to his mom if she happened to walk in on him digging through his closet. At least the short flight home through the summer night aired it out a little.

"Shit," Michael cursed under his breath, once his ratty sneakers met grass as they landed on the front lawn.

"What?" David glanced over at him.

"I forgot Star's here," Michael glared up at his bedroom window. He didn't want to deal with her right now. Lingering feelings of betrayal and a shallow sort of affection pricked at the back of his mind. He didn't know what to do with that.

"I don't think she is," David shook his head, "Laddie's gone too."

"How do you know?"

David tapped on the side of his temple, "I can hear them. Three people in there. One dog. Just listen."

Michael looked up at his bedroom window, not sure what he was supposed to listen for. Right now the only thing his ears could pick up were bugs scraping their legs through the grass, wind, the chimes on the porch and banging bits of musical bone shards. He listened a little longer.

Before he heard the thrumming pulses, and his senses expanded to envelop the sounds within the house like they had last night when he had no control over them, Michael heard and felt David's breath on his shoulder as he drew closer. Cold puffs of air rushing through dead lungs through force of habit.

"Can you hear it now?" David asked, the question a reed thin whisper near Michael's ear. Sharp and clear beneath the growing strength of the hearts beating within the house. If he hadn't eaten tonight, Michael realized how very close he might come to actually taking the invitation those hearts seemed to offer to him. Family or not, the blood was so much stronger than any sentimental feelings he clung to.

"Careful," David warned as he drew back, clapping Michael on the shoulder. "Don't listen too long," he joked. Michael let the sounds fade to nothing and forced himself to focus instead on just the night wind, his bedroom window, and David.

They crept in through his bedroom window, crawling along the side of the house like spiders. Michael had never bothered latching it, even after his unexpected flight, when he thought it was all just a bad trip. Using the front door would've just caused more trouble. Michael didn't want to risk waking anyone tonight.

Once they were in his old room, everything seemed to hit him all at once. Michael would never sleep in his bed again, and the flowery scent of Star was a reminder of the last person who did. He'd never win another trophy to add to his small collection, or wake up to the sound of his little brother shouting for breakfast. It was all over. Everything.

Michael sat down on the edge of his bed while David walked around, idly picking at things. A discarded football in the last box that'd never been unpacked. A sweater that had just narrowly missed his laundry basket. Little things that was so human and so small, they made Michael feel like he was sitting in a dead teenager's bedroom. He sort of was.

David paused at the bedroom door where a newly affixed mirror had been set up. Michael hadn't put it there. Maybe Sam did. "I didn't get to go to school much," David remarked, examining the mirror and looking back at the reflection of the wall behind him. "Couple of days here and there. Sort of taught myself." He looked back at Michael, "I didn't have much, but it was  _mine._ "

"Do you miss it?" Michael asked, scratching a hole in one of his bed covers idly, nails sharp enough right now to shred them if he put his mind to it.

"Sometimes," David admitted with a shrug, walking over to the edge of the bed and sitting down beside him, "the good stuff, mostly. Blue skies, birds singing, all that bullshit."

Michael smirked, the mental image of David frollicking like Julie Andrews in a meadow coming to mind, "that all?"

David rolled his eyes, "Star's perfume is giving me a headache."

Taking the hint, Michael stood up and walked over to his closet to dig for something to wear. Stuff he didn't mind getting dirty. A couple of t-shirts, a few pairs of jeans. Some sweaters with snags in the sleeves. Not like he was going to dress up any time soon. He was in Phoenix all over again debating whether or not he wanted to stay. Better to go with Sam and mom. He'd look after them.

He glared at a pair of faded slacks, some hand-me-downs his dad had shoved in Michael's closet because he was too cheap to throw them away. At least there was some shit he was glad to leave behind. He crumpled them into a ball and threw them on a ground, scooping up a duffle bag near some old dress shoes in the corner of the closet and shoving the clothes without the shitty memories into it.

"You ready?" David asked, standing up and looking around the room one last time.

"Sure," Michael told him, slinging the bag over a shoulder while David climbed out of the bedroom window. He followed, stopping in his tracks when he noticed a folded piece of paper on his bedroom desk with his name on it. Michael grabbed the paper and shoved it into his pocket and let the wind outside carry him into the night.


	13. The More Things Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Frogs recruit Sam. Maria vents. Sam gives his brother a hard time about his new diet.

There were so many  _weirdos_  in Santa Carla. Sam wondered how much he could make selling hair dye and tongue piercings if he put his mind to it, when a trio of yet another punk rock wannabes trailed by the railings that separated this part of the boardwalk from the beach. One of them was cradling a rat, and Sam honestly didn't know if it was a pet or not. He'd seen weirder things and people by now, so the sight was almost normal in comparison.

Two weeks to the night Michael had killed someone. Two weeks to the night Max died. One day after his grounding had finally ended. So he hitched a ride with his mom to the boardwalk and made plans to meet up with the Frog brothers at a sandwich shop. An emphasis on the sand part, he noticed, examining the swashbuckling sign above the restaurant complete with a pirate and a witch sharing a fish burger together.

He just hoped whatever plan Edgar wouldn't tell him about was a good one. Every night the body count on his brother's list was probably getting bigger. Good thing grandpa told their mom he'd helped Mike get an early morning and late night shift job stacking milk crates or something. The made-up details were a little muddled. So far it worked, though, because Lucy'd been picking up so many hours at work she didn't have time to track Michael down to talk. Sooner or later she'd start to ask questions they couldn't answer, though. Hopefully later.

There were bigger things to worry about than mom flipping her lid on Mike again right now, Sam reminded himself as he walked into the restaurant. Edgar and Alan were sitting right where they said they'd be, at a corner booth in the back near the bathroom. Some sort of strategy to keep other people from overhearing them. Sam wrinkled his nose, giving a passing waiter a thin-lipped smile and nod before making his way over to the booth.

They'd ordered multiple coffees, just judging by the brown rings on the papers they scattered about the table where they'd moved the cups around like game pieces. Torn up sugar packets and empty creamer containers were making a miniature mountain in an empty bowl, and Sam seriously wondered why they'd need that much coffee at two in the afternoon.

"Did you guys stay up all night?" He asked, sitting down beside Alan.

"We've been training. Gotta be able to stay up as late as the bloodsuckers if we want an edge on them," Edgar explained, tapping his temple as if it were some sort of brilliant strategy.

Sam looked between them, "so you're not sleeping at all?"

"We trade off shifts," Alan cut in, "we sleep an hour at a time, switch off, and just do that all night."

"Oh," Sam replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, tapping his fingers on the table as he waited for someone to take his order. "That's-are you sure that's a good idea?" He tilted his head forward, whispering, "you can't keep that up forever."

Would today be the day he told them about Mike? They'd agreed already that they were going to try to trap and cure a vampire, so why not just start with his brother? A part of Sam was burning to tell them and be done with it. He hadn't really talked to Mike much since their fight, though, and Sam was sure if they figured out a way to trap Michael where he couldn't hurt others, they'd have to take care of his  _friends_ too. The creepy bikers straight out of an after school special about gateway drugs and stranger danger. Sam's smarter side told him to wait. Test it out on a different bloodsucker first, make sure they could actually cure one, and  _then_ he'd save Mike. Otherwise he was just guaranteeing his brother would be on the business end of a broken chair leg if Ed and Alan got impatient.

"It's just for the summer," Alan explained, "right Ed?"

Ed nodded, grabbing his mug of coffee-flavored cream and making what Sam could only assume was supposed to be a manly cringe in the process, his lips pursing involuntarily while his eyebrows lowered in an attempt to cover his disgust at the taste, "yeah, gotta keep the grades up when school starts."

"Are you going to explain this to me now?" Sam asked, tapping the papers, which now that he looked at them he realized were crude line drawings of clown faces and crooked rooms.

"We've been going to the funhouse and drafting up maps for the last few days to get a feel for the place," Edgar told him, wiping coffee from his upper lip and smearing it on his camo t-shirt, "got a call a couple of weeks ago. There's stories about the place, weird shit going down all the time. We think it could be ghosts. If we figure this out, we can get the cash for supplies to carry out operation 'Fang Snatch'."

"Fang Snatch?" Sam asked, "what the crap is that?"

Alan leaned forward, shoving his own coffee mug out of the way, "when we catch one of those bloodsuckers on the boardwalk we've gotta use a code name so if we're talking about it in a place like this," he swept one arm out, "just in case there's spies."

Sam frowned, "are you serious? That's- _why?_."

"Think about it," Edgar looked around, eyeing the few other diners with a suspicious frown, "Santa Carla's crawling with bloodsuckers. Maybe some people around here don't think that's such a bad thing. Maybe they wanna be one of them. You can't be too careful."

"Okay, what do you want me to do, then?" Sam picked up one of the pages, eyeing a drawing of what looked like three frowning heads in a long box with a door in front of it. Artists, these guys weren't.

"Listen, you  _know_ what's out there, Sam. You've seen it up close and personal staring you right in the face. We need someone like you to help us," Edgar told him matter-of-factly, not quite begging, but informing with his flat tone, "how about it? You're helping with Operation Fang Snatch anyway, so you might as well hone your skills with us. We'll even give you a twenty percent cut."

Sam raised an eyebrow, "someone's paying you to do this?" He dropped the paper on the tabletop. The waitress finally walked up and took his order. Sam stuck with coke while the Frogs just had her pour more coffee into their mugs, stopping when it was half full. She dug into the pockets of her waist apron and handed Alan several creamer tubs.

"Don't drink them all in one place, alright?" She winked at him, leaving the teenagers to their work. The way she smiled, Sam wouldn't be surprised if this place was a regular hangout for the Frog brothers. Sam privately wondered if their parents knew they were earning a reputation, or if they somehow kept their little business a secret at home. He wasn't too sure he'd be able to run a vampire hunting operation out of his bedroom without a raised eyebrow from grandpa and a concerned lecture from his mom.

Alan waited until the waitress was no longer within hearing range before replying to Sam's question, "sort of. There's this run-down funhouse the locals think is haunted. A guy called us up and promised to give us twenty bucks if we got rid of whatever's in there, but if we can't find anything or any real evidence, he's not paying us."

"So we need a souvenir. A trophy. Something." Edgar waved it off like it was only a minor detail, "we were thinking you'd like to tag along, help us cover more grounds a little faster so we're not there all night following some stupid prank."

Sam was smart enough to figure out what they meant. He wasn't like Mike, he didn't have muscles. Not enough to take on a freaky ghost or vampire, or whatever they were supposed to be looking for. "You want me to be bait."

The silent look both of the Frog brothers exchanged wasn't comforting in the least.

"Not bait. Think of it like a parakeet in a coal mine," Edgar replied.

"Canary," Sam corrected him.

Edgar nodded, "yeah, that."

"We need your help, Sam," Alan almost pleaded. "What do you say?"

He  _knew_ he'd regret this, and Sam didn't even know why he was agreeing, but he reminded himself that any brownie points with the Frogs right now would cushion the blow when he told them about Mike, "I say you're buying my lunch."

* * *

Maria didn't hide her frustration well when she walked in that afternoon. Her hair had been hurriedly shoved into a sloppy scrunchy, and she slapped her sandals so violently against the video store carpet as she walked that her chain purse swung dangerously close to knocking over a cardboard Stallone cut-out in passing.

"Unbelievable," Maria fumed, "just absolutely without a doubt the crummiest thing he's ever done." She was so passionate in her anger that two elderly customers hurriedly shuffled away from the new releases shelf towards the door, not likely to come back any time soon.

Lucy decided it was in the best interest of everyone present, including herself, to assist the remaining customers in the store and wait until they had a little bit of down-time when Maria was sufficiently calm. It took about an hour of cash drawer slamming and a few hushed expletives, but eventually Lucy was able to finally ask the question.

"So I take it you still haven't found any extra help for the night shift?"

"I've got a couple of interviews in an hour, so I don't know yet. I'm telling you, Lucy, if I didn't know all the is and outs of this store and payroll, I'd have just closed shop until Max came back. I'm half-tempted to do it anyway." She turned to the back counter to pick few some of the returns and sort them, slamming the cases hard enough into their respective stacks for Lucy to be concerned she was going to break something.

"I wouldn't blame you," Lucy replied, "though I'm sort of glad you didn't. We both need the money."

Maria loaded some of the videos into a handbasket she kept under the counter, "I actually used to respect him," she looked up at Lucy, "he gave me a job when I moved down here and nobody would give me a second look. Helped me get clean. I owe him a lot, but that doesn't give him the right to just leave a letter on his door and expect me to run this stupid place without so much as a phone call."

" _Brazil,_ of all places, too," Lucy added, inclined to agree that the stunt Max was pulling made no sense. He picked a fine time to have a midlife crisis, and at least he could have had the common courtesy to-to do anything besides leave a ridiculous post-it note on his front door. That was something a half-witted teenage boy would do, not a grown man who'd seemed to want to be a role model for the community.

"Men!" Lucy added, "you know, Maria, I have two nearly grown sons and I still will never understand men."

"You and me both," Maria agreed, seeming to finally be calming down as she spoke with Lucy and venter her frustrations. She quickly stocked the tapes in her basket, recovering just a hint of the vivacious energy Lucy came to expect from her, "hey, you manage to corner him yet?"

Lucy didn't have to ask who Maria meant, "not yet. I'm hoping this weekend to maybe share dinner with both of them. I think if we just spend a little family time together, it will do us some good. I told dad and Sam to ask Michael to take some time off from his night job when I left the house this morning. I honestly don't think I've seen him in a week."

"You're a great lady, Lucy. He'll take the time off, you just watch. I get feelings about this stuff."

"I hope you're right."

"Oh, I'm right. I'm  _always_  right."

Lucy couldn't help but laugh a little, "I guess someone has to be, because it's certainly not me."

* * *

He watched, and he waited. The side of Michael that had quickly seemed to grow a little less emotional each night couldn't quite understand why he should. Could be he wasn't sure if Sam was going to take him up on the challenge to stake him, or it could just be that there was no lie less believable than the truth. Michael did not want to talk to his mom alone, but sooner or later he was going to have to.

Whispered thoughts passed between the Lost Boys as they leaned against the railing and watched Max's old video store alive with activity.

" _Are we going to wait here all night?"_ Paul asked, just on the verge of a mental whine.

Michael rolled his eyes, keeping his arms stubbornly crossed as he shifted against the railing so that his back was a little turned from the others. Cutting himself as best he could without walking away. He still hadn't figured out a way to keep his thoughts to himself, safely hidden away, and he wished he cared more.

A slender hand touched Michael's shoulder, thumb just brushing up against the curls of his hair near his neck. David never seemed to be very far, a sort of constant presence at Michael's side. He wished he cared more about that, too.

" _You going to talk to them tonight, or what?"_ David asked, nudging him. " _They're not going to bite."_

Michael shrugged, " _I don't know."_ It was the truth. He didn't. What if he ended up stuck in his old bedroom when the sun rose? He could almost feel his skin cooking at the thought. Just a few slivers of light creeping in through the window would be enough to leave him with scorch marks for days. The stories Marko told him about a couple of others they'd found on the beach at sunset were terrifying. Blackened lumps that used to look like people, the only intact pieces left were their pristine white teeth.

" _That won't happen,"_ David interrupted the gruesome imagery in Michael's head, " _you want us to tag along?"_

Yeah, he could just picture it now. Showing up at his mom's doorstep to let her know he was alive and well, with Marko and Paul waiting impatiently to trash the place followed by fighting over a three-course Emerson dinner. Even on their best behavior,  _someone_ was going to end up with severe emotional trauma after meeting those two.

" _Maybe tomorrow,"_ Michael decided, looking back at an almost  _too_ innocent-looking Paul.

" _You keep putting this off, they'll try to find you first,"_ David warned, " _if you're worried, Dwayne can babysit and I'll come with you. Better?"_

" _What am I honestly going to say?"_

" _Doesn't matter. Just don't talk about food and you'll be fine."_

Easier said than done. He couldn't  _stop_ thinking about feeding. Every chick with a low neckline tonight looked like a walking menu. In fact, one had just gotten his attention right then, making thoughts about his family suddenly that much less pressing. The girl Michael followed with his gaze even smelled like dinner. No perfume or sweat, just clean and healthy. Didn't look like she was with anyone. Wouldn't be that hard to-

"Mike." A voice sliced through his plans, drawing Michael's attention sharply.

"Sam? When did you get here?" His little brother was standing at a distance, hands dug fast into his khaki pockets. He looked halfway between scared and guilty. Hard to forget that look. He made it all the time when he used to dodge chores and land Michael in the dogyard when he was caught in a lie.

"I'm not gonna try to hurt you, Mike," Sam said, as if that had ever been something he was physically capable of doing without fighting dirty. "Mom's making dinner at home, thinks you're working. Me and grandpa've been covering for you, but she-" he looked nervously at the others surrounding Michael. With good reason. Even if he wasn't looking at them, there was an odd feeling as if the pack had moved in closer. Tighter.

David still hadn't moved his arm from Michael's shoulders, which drew a strange look from Sam. "Listen, I mean you don't have to. I can't make you. I just want you to come home tonight is all, Mike." When the response wasn't immediate, Sam felt the need to fill the silence by babbling, "we're brothers, and I know everything's all different now, and you're like-you stalk virgins and all that, but I mean we're still brothers. I mean-I mean-"

"Sam." Michael interrupted, stepping forward so David's hand fell from his shoulder, "breathe. Yeah, I'll come over. Just stop talking before you say something stupid."

"When did you start wearing leather pants?" Sam changed the subject, eyeing his brother up and down.

Michael ignored the question, "so did gramps give you a ride?"

"Yeah. He's waiting in the car." Just then, Sam seemed to really notice the rest of the bikers, and he took a few more steps back, "you don't-it's probably better if you just take your bike there. Not a lot of space in grandpa's jeep. Real cramped. Plus, smells like dead things. In a bad way, not whatever way you'd probably like it. Not saying you like dead things, but you're probably-"

"Sam," Michael stated his brother's name calmly, "I'll meet you at the house. Just give me half an hour and I'll be there, alright?"

His little brother shifted uncomfortably on his feet, reluctant to leave, but too scared right now to say anything else.

"What?" Michael asked, "what do you want to say?"

Sam took another step back, nearly bumping into a couple linking hands. They each gave him a dirty look in passing as they were forced to break contact to maneuver around him. "Mike, can we talk?"

"We're talking."

" _Without_ your friends?"

It was literally impossible to keep secrets from his pack now, even if he wanted to, but Michael didn't see why he'd need to tell Sam that. He was already skittish enough right now, if he knew they could eat  _and_ brain probe him, Michael would never hear the end of it. "Alright," he relented, stepping away from his bike, and very reluctantly away from the others.

He didn't even realize he was looking to David for a signal before walking away, but Michael didn't actively start walking until the blonde biker shrugged and focused his attention on a drunk fighting with a jewelry vendor nearby.

Carnival lights and music seemed to fade away as Michael walked alongside his brother, both of them with their hands firmly shoved in their pockets. They walked in-step, neither really seeming to know what to say. Less than a month ago Michael was chasing a spangle-skirted siren through the crowds while Sam remained hot on his tail making jokes and doing the generally annoying things he was obligated to do in his role as an obnoxious little brother. Michael was starting to miss that.

"So where'd your girlfriend go?" Sam asked, looking back the way they came. They were almost to the parking lot now, so there was no way he'd be able to see the boys anyway.

"I dunno," Michael replied, "somewhere."

Sam's silence and abrupt stop were enough of an indicator about what he was thinking. Michael was trying not to read his brother's thoughts. He really didn't want to know what was in Sam's head if he could help it.

Michael took a deep breath and let it out, not exasperated yet, but getting there, "I didn't eat her. Are you going to stop looking at me like that or what?"

"Can you blame me?" Sam snapped back, "I don't know how to talk to you anymore, Mike."

"Just talk to me like normal. I'm still me." For the most part.

"Yeah, okay, you're still you," Sam replied, as if to comfort himself with the knowledge even though he didn't seem to believe it, "Mike, if I found a cure-would you take it?"

"I don't even have a pulse anymore, Sam, how do you think you're going to cure me?" Michael drew his shoulders back now, a little on the defensive. Sam had jabbered about killing the head vampire before as a cure, and even if it wasn't bullshit now that he'd fed  _multiple_ times, he wasn't about to let Sam try to save him. Nor was he going to let his brother entertain the idea of killing David either.

"There  _is_  no cure, Sam," Michael told him, a note of warning creeping into his tone, "if that's what you wanted to talk about, it's not happening. Drop it." A man passed them on the way to his truck, idly scratching at a shaving cut on his chin, and even if Michael generally preferred meals of the female sex, the scent of blood dancing on the air was enough to make him have to turn his head from his brother. "You ever stop to think maybe I like how I am now?" Michael asked, once he had sufficiently calmed himself so that he knew when he looked back at Sam there would be no hint of feral yellow in his eyes.

"Jeeze, Mike, were you gonna kill that guy?!" Sam exclaimed, just a little louder than he needed to. The man in question turned back to them, petrified, before jumping into his truck and slamming the door, and peeling out of the parking lot.

Michael ran a hand through his hair, patiently reminding himself that no matter  _how_ irritating Sam was right now, he wasn't on the menu. At least he could always rely on his little brother to be obnoxious, no matter how much they both changed. Twenty years from now Sam would have kids his own age, and he'd still be shouting stupid crap loud enough for onlookers to hear.

"Go on back home, alright? I'll catch up with you later," Michael told him, not too sure they had anything else to say to each other now that it was out in the open that he had no interest in finding a non-existent cure and Sam was going to do everything within his power to make sure any and all passersby would avoid them at all costs.

Sam stopped in his tracks, looking down at his shoes, "I just miss you, Mike. I want you to come home. Come home and stay there. We can work around the whole- _thing_ ," he tore his hands from his pockets to wave them in the air in a gesture that was apparently supposed to help clarify what that 'thing' was. "We can at least try, can't we?" He looked back up at his brother, hopeful despite the fact that he knew what Michael's answer would be. What it had to be.

"I'll catch up with you later," Michael repeated, biting back a growl. "Go home, Sam."

"But-"

Michael started walking away. Yeah, he was definitely going to stop somewhere for a bite to eat first. Otherwise his temper and appetite would get the better of him.

"Mike!" Sam called out. "Michael!"

Tonight was going to be one hell of a headache.


	14. Dinner Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner doesn't get off to a great start for Sam. David, however, has a bit of fun.

Having a hell hound around to pick up the scraps had to be one of the best things that ever happened to them. Granted, he could only eat so much, but for the small meals it was nice not to have to worry about the cleanup. There was a pit of dark soil and discarded bodies deep inside the hotel where little of the building actually remained. With Thorn around, it didn't seem to fill up quite as fast anymore. Sometimes David would even catch the animal loping through small enclosures in the dark with a cracked bone in his jaws, and he wondered whether it was dug up from old scraps-or the dog made a few trips outside of his own. Food for thought.

"You really wanna go?" Michael called out from a small, musty room he'd claimed for his closet.

"Yeah," David assured him, walking up to the sagging doorway, making a mental note to re-enforce it with an extra beam when he got the chance. Cozy or not, once in awhile they did have to do a little maintenance in their semi-subterranean haven. "It'll be fun."

Michael tossed his ruined shirt to the ground, leaning down to pull a fresh one from a large bag of new clothes. It hadn't taken long to figure out black was an easier choice. Harder to see the bloodstains. "Fun? How?"

David watched him dress, a smirk playing on his face for more than one reason, "you'll see." When Michael had told him about the little twerp's idea to cure him, David nearly saw red. Even though it was impossible, the idea was enough to consider an extra late night meal. Michael belonged to  _them_ now. He belonged to David. Nothing was going to change that.

"You ready?" David asked, much preferring the sight of Michael taking his shirt off than putting one on. He'd have to do something about that soon. Time permitting. Honestly, he was getting a little fucking tired of waiting, but David was new at this whole head vampire schtick. Just sharing a room with Michael lately was becoming a trial all its own. So why not just take what he wanted? Right now?

Michael shrugged his jacket on, running a hair through his dark curls to push them back from his face. Apex predator or not, David could still sense the dying irritation from Michael's earlier chat with his little brother. His head wasn't in the right place right now. So David stepped aside and let him pass, doing  _nothing_ , because he was still waiting. For an invitation.

In the lobby, Marko lounged on the side of the fountain, scratching what was probably a dirty limerick into the stone while he silently watched Paul laying on the ground in a state of pure bliss. Down and out for the count for the next hour before his vampiric nature cleaned whatever cocktail he'd smoked out of his system. Dwayne sat on the couch flipping through a water-logged paperback. David's eyes landed on a pile of chains near Dwayne's boot.

"You got plans tonight?" David asked, almost disappointed he was going to miss it.

"Maybe," Dwayne replied, lowering his magazine to look at Paul, "maybe not. We'll see."

Michael was standing over Paul now, watching the blitzed-out rocker sing some half-remembered lyrics under his breath while he drummed his knuckles on the ground in tune.

"What are you  _on_?" Michael asked, nudging Paul's shoulder with the tip of a new boot.

"Peyote," Marko answered for him, "weed, rat poison. Take your pick." David had the distinct impression something interesting was probably going to happen while they were out playing house with the Emerson clan, but it was something they really couldn't put off tonight. Not after that little 'cure' bullshit Sam Emerson had tried to ply on his brother. Oh no, David wasn't going to put this off at all.

For the sake of convenience, they left their bikes at the hotel. Better to take to the sky tonight, so their arrival would go unnoticed until they were at the front door. David enjoyed making a scene whenever possible, but tonight was a little less about intimidating Michael's mother and more about keeping the peace. For the most part.

"You can still back out," Michael offered once they landed together on the front lawn, the wind about them dying down just enough to silence the chaotic wind chimes and strings of bone shards on the Emersons' front porch.

David raised an eyebrow, fingers itching to pull out a pack of cigarettes, but just barely managing to strain himself, "back out?" He grinned, "wouldn't dream of it."

It wasn't his mother who answered the door when Michael knocked, nor was it his grandfather, but Sam. He looked genuinely relieved, too, until he caught sight of David standing just behind him, and the sudden whimper of terror was enough to make this trip worth it if nothing else happened tonight.

"See?" Michael poked his brother in the shoulder, "told you I'd come."

"What's  _he_ doing here?" Sam asked, fingers gripping the edge of the door so tight that they'd turned bone white.

"Who?" Michael looked around as if he didn't quite understand who Sam was referring to, "just me and David here."

"That's what I mean! Him!" Sam hissed, clearly struggling to keep his voice down so no one else inside heard him in his miniature panic attack.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Michael reached forward to ruffle his distraught little brother's hair, and the human was far too focused on David to dodge the assault quick enough.

"Mike!" Sam yelped, reaching up to touch his head, "I'm not kidding. What am I supposed to tell mom about him, huh?"

"I guess you tell her we've got a guest," Michael told him, stepping past Sam without so much as asking for an invitation. David followed. Shouldn't be too big of a deal as long as they didn't get caught by a mirror or a gigantic crucifix hiding around the corner. Judging by the quick glimpse David caught of the old man he assumed was their grandfather, the guy didn't strike him as a card carrying church member. He wasn't worried.

"Just don't try anything funny," Sam warned after David, his shaky voice betraying the very apparent terror he was trying to hide.

David paused, letting Michael walk ahead of him just so he could stop to give Sam one very toothy smile, "don't worry about it. You're too stringy for me anyway. You're safe." As long as he didn't pull any stupid stunts.

"Michael?" A feminine voice called out. The little woman. "Honey, did you just get home?" She came around the corner by the stairs, ruthlessly beating the contents in a mixing bowl, "you're working far too much. What kind of place has a teenager working this late?"

"Don't worry about it," Michael told her, leaning in to kiss his mother on the forehead. David wasn't too sure he remembered having anyone in his life when he was human that he'd have shown that much affection to, but it was an amusing contrast against the memory just under half an hour ago of helping him tear into a fresh kill with abandon. Michael seemed to know what David was thinking already, and he looked back at the older vampire with a hint of a warning in his gaze.

"Oh, who's this?" Lucy asked, noticing David for the first time. "I think I've seen you before, haven't I?" She didn't seem terribly impressed by his appearance, but a quick scan of her eldest son's new wardrobe drew an even more dubious look, "sweety, are you spending all your money on clothes?"

Michael seemed to ponder which question to answer first, looking back and forth between his confused mother, his amused packmate, and a somewhat ruffled-looking younger brother who was all but making the symbol of a cross with his fingers as he walked around the pair towards Lucy.

"This is-" Michael began, before David immediately cut him off, "David. I'm a friend."

"A coworker?" Lucy asked, ceasing her mixing frenzy for a moment as they spoke.

"Sort of," David replied, "we do a lot of cleanup around town. That sort of thing." After all, without them there'd be a hell of a homeless problem in Santa Carla.

"I don't spend all my money," Michael cut in, wisely changing the topic before she dug any deeper. David didn't mind describing what they did in detail, but it might put everyone else off their meals.

"I'm glad," Lucy admitted, turning to walk back through the doorway she'd come through, "I've almost got everything done. I just need to bake these drop biscuits for about fifteen minutes, and we can have some nice hamburger steak, gravy, potatoes. Salad. Green beans. I really went all out tonight. Dad's even in the dining room setting the table, and you know how hard it is to drag him out of his workshop when he's in the middle of something."

She kept talking, but David mostly tuned her out in favor of letting Michael follow and lingering beside the stairs to give Sam one good, long look. Didn't look like the youngest Emerson was going to take his eyes off David at all tonight.

"What's up?" David asked, as if he wasn't reading the kid's mind right now. The twerp had another thing coming if he thought he had a fighting chance with the sharpened pencils in his side pocket. Had to hand it to him, though, at least he was resourceful.

"I don't know what you did to my brother, or how you got him to-to-pull the shitsucker act, but you just watch it, buddy."

David let the pathetic excuse for a warning settle in, pretended to contemplate Sam Emerson's words, and then took a step towards him, followed by another. The sound of boots and chain metal echoing in the small space he cornered the irate and terrified teen in was almost poetic. Leaning forward, David took another step, blocking Sam in with a hand on the wall, "big words, kid."

Sam's eyes were cartoonishly wide now, his little act of bravery stripped from him in one short sentence. Another kind of warning, and one David could happily follow through on. "So, what do you plan to do, little Sammy? Pull something now and your mom in there finds out. Everything. So you've got a couple of choices here. Try to save your brother and royally fuck yourself over before I lose my patience, or keep your mouth shut and be a good little boy tonight. What's it gonna be?"

The human's quivering lower lip was enough of an answer, and it earned Sam a rough pat on the cheek, "there ya go. Good boy." He grinned, just as Lucy called out to them.

"Sam, David, would you boys like to help me plate the salad?"

"Yes!" Sam shouted, scrambling away from David and practically running through the kitchen door. David followed at a distance, his face the picture of innocence when Michael looked over at him from his position beside his mother near the kitchen sink.

"Plating salad, huh?" David asked, slowly removing his gloves and tucking them into his coat pocket. It was the closest he was going to get to actively playing this house game. Michael had folded his jacket up and laid it over the back of a kitchen chair, but the earing and leather pants sort of ruined whatever 'good son' act he was trying to put on. They both knew he was well beyond that now.

"Would you like to take a couple of plates, sweetheart, and show David to the dining room?" Lucy asked Michael, handing the salad plates in question to him. "Should only be a few more minutes for the biscuits."

Michael took them wordlessly, nodding to a few other plates on the counter for David and Sam to grab. In no time they were settling into the dining room, where Michael's grandpa was already hunkered down at with a bottle of root beer and a bandana tied fast around his head like he was a member of some long forgotten geriatric biker gang.

"Michael's friend, huh?" The old man looked up at David, not bothering to stand or offer a hand to him. David looked back at him with a silent, thin-lipped smile. No need to check his thoughts. They both knew where they stood here. Michael had told David all about him.

"Coworker," Sam corrected, sitting down beside his mother's empty chair, making it a point to pull his seat as far away from David's end of the table as he could without leaving the table altogether.

"We're friends, too," Michael cut in, passing a plate to his grandfather and putting the other one down on a placemat in front of him. Between the three, they somehow managed to get the rest of the plates set without any trouble. The way Sam was acting, it seemed like any moment he was going to jump from the table and flip it over to make his escape from David. He'd probably spend the whole meal staring back at him to make sure David didn't suddenly snap and take a bite out of someone. As if he didn't have any table manners.

"Friends," Grandpa Emerson repeated, picking at one of his back teeth with a pinkie nail. "Only the two of you?"

"There's others," Michael admitted, leaning back in his chair. He'd sat right beside David, in a surprisingly good mood now that Sam had to watch what he was saying around their mother.

"Never been a big fan of company," the old man grumbled picking at a lettuce leaf on his plate with a fork and scooping it over in favor of a cherry tomato, "they make a mess. Start stuff up. No, nothing good ever comes from having company."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," David assured him, following his meaning well enough, "we don't usually make house visits. Besides, with all those roaches on Sam's plate, I'm sure you've got a huge pest problem. Who wants to deal with that?"

"I don't have- _Jesus Christ!"_ Sam shrieked, grabbing his plate and unthinkingly throwing it against the wall. It was a miracle the glass didn't shatter as it hit, falling to the ground with a hollow 'THUNK' as the contents of the plate were spread on bits of the wall and floor.

The dining room door flew open as Lucy hurried in with a heaping tray of steaming biscuits, "what on earth?  _Samuel Emerson!"_

"There were roaches! All over the salad!" Sam explained, rushing to the table to snatch at his grandfather's plate, only to have his hands batted away.

"Keep your hands to yourself, boy," the old man warned him. "No roaches in my food, and there darned well weren't any in yours. Clean that mess up." He set his plate down roughly, elbowing Sam away so he could focus on his food.

"Smooth, Sam," Michael remarked, setting his elbows on the table just as Lucy was lowering the platter of biscuits.

"Honestly, Sam, I worry about you," She told him, "now go get the dustpan and broom, and a washcloth to clean that up.

"Guess it was just olives, huh?" David remarked, grinning back at Sam, "my mistake."

"Olives?" Lucy asked, bewildered as she sat down to enjoy her own salad, having placed the platter of biscuits on the table. "I didn't put any olives in the salad."

Michael cleared his throat, fiddling with a glass of water beside his plate, "so how's work going?"

"Don't even get me started. My boss decided to go on vacation in the middle of the week without so much as a phone call, and I'll just leave it at that. I'm not happy."

If looks could kill, by the time Sam had finished cleaning up his ruined salad and putting everything away, he'd have burnt two identical eyeholes right through David's forehead. Watching the kid oscillate between anger and fear was a feat in itself. His knee brushed up against Michael's and David looked over at the brunette with a forkful of lettuce and shredded carrot.

" _Having fun?"_ Michael inquired with a silent thought, " _you're such an asshole._ " It wasn't an insult, it came off more like a compliment.

"You should quit," Michael suggested to Lucy, tearing his gaze away from David.

Lucy shook her head, "believe me, it's tempting."

"Got no trouble covering a couple bills if you need to, Lucy, you know that," Grandpa Emerson told her, taking another mouthful of salad, smacking his lips together loudly. So much for table manners.

"So, mom," Sam began to talk, reaching for a biscuit, "I bet you there's probably better jobs on the other end of town if you were really thinking about quitting." He was doing his best to direct his conversation towards his mother despite his eagle eyes trained on David.

"Sam, those are hot," Lucy warned, which didn't really need to be said as he was quickly passing the biscuit back and forth between his hands.

David didn't even make a pretense of touching his salad as he returned Sam's stare with one of his own, "at least they don't bite." It was a bit of a stretch, but the force he put behind the words and the eye contact were enough to make the point.

"Shit!" Sam shouted jumping out of his chair.

"Sam?!" Lucy stood up, "what's wrong?"

"It won't let go!" He whined, waving one hand that firmly held onto the burning biscuit. In Sam's mind right now it had grown two sets of chompers and sunk them deep into his fingers. In reality, he was just an idiot waving a hot biscuit around and wailing.

"Oh for the love of-" Lucy reached out, grabbing Sam's hand and tearing the biscuit from his grasp, rescuing him from his imaginary dough-y foe, "Sam, one more outburst and you can go to your room." She lowered her voice, "you are making a scene in front of a guest on the one night I wanted us to eat together as a family."

Sam looked back and forth between David and his mother, at a loss for words. What could he honestly tell her? Dinner literally conspiring against him tonight?

"Well, I think I've had enough of that," Grandpa Emerson spoke up, leaning forward to grab a biscuit and slap it onto his plate, scooping up some potatoes and gravy, and stabbing a slab of steak on a serving tray with his fork to carry back to his salad plate, "I got a lotta work to do for the Widow Johnson," he explained. "Maybe I'll come back for dessert."

Lucy, blushing, sat back down, forcefully grabbing her youngest son's shoulder and pushing him back into his seat, "alright, dad. Go ahead. I understand."

" _Give her a break,"_ Michael warned David, while glancing over at his red-faced brother. "Hey, she told you they were hot. Maybe it just felt like something bit you. You been drinking spoiled milk, Sam?"

"I've been reading too many horror comics," Sam mumbled under his breath, "I  _guess_."

David gave Lucy an innocent smile, which he didn't doubt looked very strange coming from him, "the salad's great, Ms. Emerson," he still hadn't touched a bite. They could eat food just fine, but it didn't really satisfy. Even Michael looked reluctant to eat his, though he was making an effort.

Lucy smiled in turn, breaking the tension she'd been holding after Sam's second outburst, "thank you, David. I'm glad you like it." She took a bite, savoring it in the silence that followed. Silverware clinking on plates was the only sound for a good minute or two before she spoke up again to break the silence, "so, Michael, I noticed your closet was half-empty today. When were you planning on telling me you moved out?"


	15. Undercooked.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marko and Paul push Dwayne to his limits. David pushes Sam to his limits. Michael and Lucy talk.

Marko knelt down to take Thorn's prize from him and threw it across the lobby for the hellhound to retrieve once more. There didn't seem to be any shortage of bones around here, as Thorn was probably discovering. Max used to mix his leftovers with Alpo to stretch it and minimize cleanup at home, but Marko didn't doubt the animal much preferred his new diet now that he was with them.

"I kinda miss Star," Marko remarked off-handedly, drawing Dwayne's attention nearly immediately from a well-thumbed paperback, "she was fun to mess with."

Dwayne looked thoughtful for a moment, "it's funner to mess with food, though. There's a pay-off."

"Nobody was stopping you from eating her if you wanted to," Paul butt in, leaning over the back of the couch and throwing an arm around Dwayne's shoulder.

"Pretty sure Max would've had a nice little fatherly speech in the study with us if we did," Marko pointed out. It took a lot to push their former master over the edge, but when he got to that point it wasn't pretty. Snacking on their 'sister' would've done the job. Marko's jaws ached just thinking about the last time he'd been the one in trouble. He  _still_  hated pliers. Dentists too.

Paul's eyes danced as he snickered, leaning forward so he could tumble over the back of the couch beside Dwayne and kick his legs up, "had to spoon-feed you for a  _week_ , didn't we?"

Marko batted his eyes, refusing to take the bait, "took a little longer for your nuts to drop again, didn't it? Max never did get around to re-planting those bushes. Guess he didn't want to clean the hedge-clippers."

"Girls, girls, you're both pretty," Dwayne informed both of them, more intent on reading his book than paying much attention to either of them.

Thorn had tired of playing fetch, so he loped over to a small corner of the lobby where he could enjoy his bone in piece. Marko wondered idly if it was possible for a hellhound to get fat. Were they like Paul, with the endless stomach and stick-thin bitch jeans?

The pigeons were roosting in some hidden corner. Marko didn't feel like routing them out. Instead, he just sat down at the lip of the fountain and picked through some of the rusted junk inside what used to be the reservoir. Tetanus was luckily something he didn't have to deal with.

"Watcha looking for?" Paul asked him, far more sober now than he had the right to be. Marko could've sworn he'd dosed the rocker's stash with enough rat poison to knock an elephant out. Should've at least kept him entertained for another hour.

"Dunno," Marko replied, knocking over a couple of burnt-out candles. There were odds and ends he tossed into the fountain every now and again, mostly trinkets. Jewelry. Glass eyes and shiny fillings. Stuff he told himself he'd fasten to the fallen chandelier some day, when he felt like cleaning it up and hooking it to the ceiling. It was a thirty year project in the works. A man could make a promise to himself that someday he'd fix up his front porch or finish a painting, and maybe get around to it when he was too old to keep putting things off. A vampire had the luxury of time. If he wanted, Marko could procrastinate forever.

He noticed a ball of dirty fur, far too old to be phased. They dwelt among shadows and nightmares. Pests were a minor problem in the grand scheme of things. Marko poked at the ball of fur, thoughtful as he turned back to look at Paul and Dwayne, "you think a couple of rat skulls would make a cool sconce?"

Dwayne lowered his book, keeping a finger in-between the pages to hold his spot, "not very practical."

"But it'd look cool," Marko repeated, "I'd just need a bit of wire to wrap them together. Some extra wax."

"Where you gonna find that many skulls?" Paul asked from his upside-down position on the couch, hair brushing against the lobby floor while he kicked his feet over the back of the couch, just enough to shift the cushions and draw an annoyed look from Dwayne.

"Probably a couple hundred kicking around here somewhere," Marko replied, though he wasn't too sure most of them weren't too crushed or old to work for what he had in mind. "Hey, doesn't Michael's grandpa screw around with dead shit? He's probably got a few handy."

Dwayne turned a page, this time not lifting his eyes from his book as he spoke, "that'll turn out well. Not too sure he'll be too excited to help you out there, Marko."

"Not like he can say no," Paul pointed out, grinning, "wreck the place, scare the fuck out of him—he'll give ya all the little dead rats you need."

It'd be fun. Would Michael get mad? He still had a thing for his old family, so maybe. Marko scowled at the rusted chandelier for a second or two. Maybe it'd be easier if they just played nice. "We could just get Mikey to snag them, problem solved," he decided. Now that he knew he probably couldn't have them, Marko  _needed_ those rat skulls.

"You never finish anything," Dwayne pointed out, "you'll just end up stuck with an army of rat skulls, like all your other crap, and it'll sit there for a couple decades until someone steps on one and shoves them down your throat."

Paul grinned, "how many you think would fit? Hey, Marko, David can keep count while you shout chubby bunny."

"Why don't I just shove them in one of your holes and you play that game?" Marko retorted, snatching an empty bottle from inside the fountain and flinging it at him. He just barely missed, shattering the glass on the floor right beside Dwayne's foot, where shards flew up at him and very nearly sliced his skin.

"Watch it!" Dwayne threw his book down, standing up and dusting glass from his lap.

"Hey, take it easy," Paul narrowly dodged bits and pieces of the broken bottle, wiggling desperately to right himself on the couch. "You got it in my hair, man."

Dwayne glared down at him, tossing his book to the couch, "don't push me tonight. I've been trying to get through that last chapter for over an hour and both of you are starting to get on my nerves. Either pick a room to fuck in or cut the shit."

Sex was a good way to burn off some energy, but fighting was usually funner, and killing trumped it all. Except tonight they hadn't had much to pick from, and the newbie got first dibs. Marko elected to ignore the warning in Dwayne's eyes and threw two more bottles. One of them hit their target. The other-not at all.

* * *

It was a trick. Once Sam inspected his knuckles where he thought the biscuit had chomped on, that much was clear. Michael wasn't doing this. He wouldn't. Even if he ate people, he wasn't doing it. Had to be that spiky blonde jerk with the lame bad-boy look. Yeah, okay, so maybe he was the real deal, but Sam still thought he looked stupid. He was just about to throw out a thinly-veiled remark about it when his mom spoke up about Michael moving out. Oh no.

His brother was silent for a while, setting his fork down and looking back at Lucy with an almost emotionless expression on his face. The only thing that betrayed whatever he was thinking was the way his left hand curled up into his napkin on the table. David glanced down at the napkin and Michael's hand relaxed.

"I didn't know how to tell you," he stated calmly, "I figured I'd just wait a little longer. Didn't wanna make it into a big deal."

Sam braced himself for family drama. Santa Carla seemed to be a breeding ground for it.

"I can't say I'm  _happy_ you moved out, but I'd have liked to talk to you about it first. I can't stop you from doing what you want anymore, Michael. You're an adult." Lucy tilted her head a little, squinting, "well, for the most part. I still want you to finish school, though. Can you promise me you'll do that?"

He didn't even blink. "Sure," Michael agreed. "No problem." He stuck his fork into his steak and began to cut it. Sam had a hard time not focusing on his nails. Not claws. Still sharp, though. If David wasn't wearing gloves, his would probably be just as sharp.

"Something wrong, Sam?" Michael asked, watching his brother with an uncomfortably intense focus. Not like he was going to eat him, but still.

"You're giving me the creeps," Sam came right out and admitted it. "You're creepy, Mike. Both of you."

"Sam," Lucy said his name, exasperated, "stop."

"They're staring at me!" Sam exclaimed.

Lucy lowered her fork, "well, sweetheart, what do you expect when you're throwing things at the wall and shouting about biscuits eating your hand?  _I'm_ having trouble trying not to stare at you right now."

He turned beet red, lowering his head a little as he poked at his steak.

"Careful," David warned with a thoroughly unpleasant smile, "don't want your steak going crazy too. Better eat it fast."

Sam bit back a squeak, chewing on his bottom lip and  _trying_ to look anywhere but at his plate now. If vampires could really play head games like this, how did he or the Frog brothers even stand a chance against them?

He regretted the instant he looked down at the steak in front of him. Near the shard of blackened bone at the corner, a bulbous yellow eye stared back at him. Not even like a cow's eye. More like a rotting fish, with a thin film over it. Just as he was about to gag, the gristle around the edges of the steak began to quiver, splitting in half to allow a long pink tongue to roll out across the edge of the plate and dangle at the edge of the table.

_It isn't real. It's a trick._

"Mom, this looks amazing," Sam stated through clenched teeth, looking back across the table at David and Michael, not sure who he was more upset at right now. The evil flying spike-head or his own brother giving spike-head a creepy side eye.

Trick or not, the steak couldn't hurt him. It was just a slice of dead cow. An hour ago it was wrapped in plastic. It was USDA approved. If some meat inspector on the other side of the country thought it was fine, it had to be. This steak would be in a traveling sideshow if it really was-holy shit, it was breathing now.

Sam vigorously began to saw the steak in half, trying not to panic as he blinked through welling tears. For the last half minute he hadn't been able to blink, terrified despite himself that any second this Franken-beef was going to leap off the table and attack his face with meaty determination.

"It's been a rough summer," Lucy remarked, "people in this town love their movies. Do you have a vcr at home, David?" She was reaching for conversation, pointedly ignoring Sam as long as he kept his mouth shut and tried not to make a scene. He wouldn't give spike-head the satisfaction.

David looked back at Lucy, though his self-satisfied little smirk was for Sam, "We're kind of old-fashioned. Yeah, I've got a nice bike and great clothes, but that's about it."

Lucy nodded, "my dad is the same way. You know, the second we got here and Sam found out there was no tv, it felt like the world was going to end for about five minutes. I still don't know if I want to buy one yet. It's been so nice catching up on my books and magazines when I have the free time."

"I don't read much," David admitted.

"Yeah, you're too busy eating babies," Sam mumbled under his breath, focusing on the steak again. Now that it was sawed in half and split down the middle, it had stopped breathing. The tongue was still hanging over the edge of the table. The eyeball had stopped blinking.

"Mom, I think I smell something burning," Michael glanced towards the dining room door.

"Really?" Lucy frowned, "I didn't put anything-oh my goodness, you're right!" She leapt to her feet and tossed her napkin on the table. "It's probably the dripping pan. I'll be right back." She rushed from the room with a strange dazed look in her eyes.

"Well, looks like you did it, Sammy-boy," David stated flatly, ignoring Lucy's departure. "You killed it. Lotta blood though. Shame if it ends up staining your nice clothes." He leaned back in his chair, clasping his gloved hands together and staring back at Sam. Michael just shook his head and looked away.

"Mike, why're you letting-" Sam cut himself off, leaping up from his chair as blood liberally sprayed him from the center of his steak, where well-done meat had suddenly turned into pumping, throbbing muscle and arteries. "JESUS CHRIST!" He shouted, stumbling back against the wall and yanking at his blood-soaked shirt. It looked like Carrie swung by for a late night dinner date and kissed him goodbye.

Sam rushed from the dining room, trying not to squeeze at the bottom of his shirt to dry it a little. Yeah, okay, so this might be a trick, but it was one hell of a trick! He needed a shower. A hot, scalding shower. The second he got up the stairs and into the bathroom, he barricaded the door with a chair he'd put in there after Mike nearly attacked him.

Maybe if he was lucky, spike-head would get food poisoning. Sam made a mental note to wear ear plugs the next time they met.

* * *

Michael watched his little brother flee the dining room, distantly wondering if he was even capable of feeling guilt anymore. Probably not. His survival instincts sort of relied on that. He reminded himself that the more scared Sam was of David and the others, the better off he'd be. Otherwise one of these days he'd probably try to follow them home and do something stupid. Michael wasn't ready to make a choice between them, and he didn't really want to think about it.

" _Proud of yourself?"_ He asked David, watching the dining room door swing open as his mother walked back in.

"Well, nothing was burning." She looked at Sam's empty chair and abandoned plate, "did Sam go to the bathroom?"

"Something like that," Michael replied, leaning an elbow on the table. "I think he's going crazy without MTV.

Lucy let out a sigh, "I think you could be right," she admitted as she took her seat. "I'm sorry, David, normally our family dinners are a little less dramatic.

"Don't worry about it, Ms. Emerson. I've got a couple of little brothers myself. The stuff they do could curl your toes."

Michael didn't say anything. The stuff  _they_ did would get his mom locked up in a loony bin if she was lucky.

The rest of dinner was surprisingly normal. Lucy hadn't done anything to deserve the wrath of David's twisted sense of humor, for her sake he was as close to angelic as he could get. Leather pants and supervillain trench coat aside. He could've taken it off at the door, but his fake manners could only be pushed so far. Michael suspected if he'd even tried to convince him to do so would've earned him a couple of fangs embedded in his palm.

David glanced up at Michael with a sly smirk, implying that he wasn't far off the mark there.

Throughout the night Michael had been intensely aware how close they were sitting, and he seriously doubted it was an accident how often David's knee brushed up against his, or his hand danced a little too close to Michael's lap whenever he reached down to grab his napkin. It felt like a game. That should probably bother him.

What was he playing at? Michael took a sip of water and did his best to ignore it.  _Napkins_ , he thought to himself. Napkins would be useful on hunts. Napkins and a bottle of water. Not a noticeably ungloved hand under the table dragging sharp nails lightly over his leg. Napkins.

"So what's it like working at a video store?" David asked Lucy casually, while Michael pretended it was the most interesting question in the world and he had to shift in his seat just slightly with the hope that his mother wouldn't pick that moment to accidentally drop a fork or anything under the table.

"It has its ups and downs," Lucy replied, "I haven't been there long enough to decide. I'm still learning."

Was David going to switch from tormenting Sam to Michael now? That's certainly what it felt like right now. The meal couldn't end quickly enough. By the time it did, thankfully, he was able to escape David for a few minutes to help his mom clean dishes in the kitchen. It was at least long enough for him to gather his thoughts and avoid any embarrassing conversations at the front door. Thank god his new pants weren't  _that_ tight.

"So I guess you've got a good job, then?" Lucy asked, as Michael scrubbed at one plate with a soapy washcloth and passed it to her to dip in clean water.

"Good enough. Could probably get you a tv in a couple of weeks, if you want."

"That would be nice."

He could feel eyes on his back. Scent David on the air through the smell of fresh lemons and air freshener. So much for a break to cool his head. These feelings, impulses, whatever he called them weren't exactly new, but for some reason they were more  _intense_. There weren't any girls wandering around right now, and they weren't in a crowd, so he couldn't blame it on crossed wires. David wanted  _him._

"Michael, is something wrong? You look upset," Lucy pressed a sudsy hand over his, squeezing, "is it Star?"

That one threw him for a loop. "What?!"

"I'm your mother. I'm also old enough to figure out what's going on when a boy asks a girl to stay over at his house for a few days. Did you two break up? Is that why she left before you moved out?"

Michael hurriedly finished scrubbing the last plate, thankful that the time they'd spent at the sink together had been at least enough for him to back away from the counter without any embarrassing looks, "yeah. We broke up." He handed her the plate and reached for a hand towel on the counter to dry himself off.

"I'm sorry, honey," Lucy rinsed off the last plate and placed it in the wooden rack on the counter, "there will be others. I promise."

It wasn't easy to pretend he was upset, but he managed well enough. Michael tucked his hands into his pants pockets, focusing on a spot on the floor, "yeah." Part of it was an act, and part of it was an attempt to deny David the satisfaction of looking back at him in the moment.

"You probably work early," Lucy told him, wiping off her own hands so she could pull her son into an abrupt hug. He awkwardly responded in kind, resting his hands on her shoulders.

"Not that early, but we gotta be going," he admitted. It wasn't  _that_ late, but he was itching to get out of the house soon before David started messing with someone else. Michael wouldn't stop him, but something told him his grandpa was better at dealing with head games than his little brother. The results wouldn't be pretty.

"Okay," Lucy stepped back, bobbing her head a few times in an overly-enthusiastic nod, "you're right," she pressed the back of her palm to her nose and sniffed a little, "I don't want you staying up all night. Call me, okay?"

"No problem," Michael agreed, "I might swing by your work some time." As long as he could convince Paul, Marko, and maybe even David not to be dicks about it. He doubted Dwayne would be a problem.

"Nice meeting you, Ms. Emerson," David piped up, startling her in the process.

"Oh! I didn't realize you were there!" She blushed, "I shouldn't have expected you to just sit in the dining room. I'm sorry, David. I'm just so out of sorts lately."

"Hey, I understand," he held up his hands, "I was just about to head out. You coming, Michael?"

Michael nodded slowly, parting ways with his mother, "night, mom."

"Goodnight," she called out as they disappeared through the kitchen door and headed outside into the night.

David grinned, throwing an arm around Michael's shoulder, "nice family. All they're missing is the picket fence and paper rou-" he was cut off as Michael roughly grabbed the lapels of his coat to drag him in for a bruising kiss, rough, and laced with feverish excitement.

"You done?" Michael asked, once he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against David's and taking in big gulps of air he didn't need.


	16. David's Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David and Michael get a lot closer. Sam takes a shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory 'this is when things get grown-up and if adult scenes upset you, skip to the last sequence and pretend Mike + David just cuddled aggressively.'

The wind that carried them back to the sunken hotel was more erratic than usual. David had enjoyed teasing Michael to the breaking point, but even he had been taken by surprise when the brunette made a move. He'd have done something about it too, right there, if Michael hadn't nixed the plan. His excitement and irritation made the flight almost dangerous. By the time they stumbled into the hotel lobby clawing at each other's clothes, it hardly registered to him at all how eerily quiet the hotel was. Just the sound of a turning page and crackling fire met them. That, and-

"Don't mind me," Dwayne called out, not even looking up from his book.

David's eyes roamed over to the canopied bed, where even now he half-expected to see her tragic doe-eyes watching him through the gossamer curtains. He didn't miss that feeling of unwanted fear she seemed to breathe into their connection. One reason she'd never been a welcome presence during their hunts.

Michael seemed to follow David's gaze, and it was difficult to bite back the sudden pang of possessive anger that pulsed through him at the memory of her perfume heady on his sweat-soaked skin. Even if Dwayne wasn't reading a book less than ten feet away from them, he had no intention of using that particular bed tonight. The ghost of Star's memory could go fuck herself right now, because they sure as hell weren't going to do it for her.

With hands braced against David's torso, Michael pressed up behind him almost aggressively, "so what now?" He inquired with a soft growl. Privacy was just an illusion, when emotions and instincts seemed to bear against all of their minds equally, but David had no interest in sharing the room with Dwayne right now. Or Paul and Marko, wherever the hell they were. Judging by the distant echoes of frustration he felt at the back of his mind, they were just fine. They'd probably earned whatever punishment had been dealt to them by their babysitter.

"C'mon," David urged, turning back against Michael and breaking his hold, a hand brushing against the front of the brunette's crotch, just enough to draw out an impatient moan before they disappeared through the curtained passage that led to the center of the hotel.

They took a faster route than the first time David had given Michael a brief tour. Now that he wasn't keeping up any farce, they could easily glide over larger drops and slip more easily through pitch black crevices.

"We're not going to hang upside down and do this, are we?" Michael asked doubtfully, looking up at their familiar perches in passing.

David grinned, leaping up through a large gap between several rotted wooden boards in the ceiling, "don't knock it till you try it, but no. Not tonight."

"Did you and Star-"

David cut him off with a growl, "no. We didn't."

They were finally here. One of the very few bedrooms left in the hotel. Not intact, but good enough. It would be at least another decade before the ceiling gave way to destroy what was left. A four-poster had been pushed to the very corner of the room where the floor was nearly intact, while a dresser sat on its side nearby, where David liked to keep a few trinkets from his more memorable hunts. For all intents and purposes, this space was his. Not even a hint of Star's perfume had infected the place, and not even Paul had the balls to disturb it. Some things were sacred.

Michael looked around, breathing in the scent of David and crumbling memories. Hard to believe there was a time David couldn't afford a place like this, he mused as he watched Michael take it all in. He'd been here  _once_ , when the wallpaper was fresh, and some rich trash had the place for the night. Not too long before the quake. He still had a couple of their rings in that dresser.

"So…" Michael trailed off, turning back to look at David. A doubtful look sparked to life in his eyes.

"You're starting to think too much," David told him flatly, stepping closer and easily sidestepping the hole in the floor they'd risen from. One hand deftly unzipped Michael's pants, while the other pressed against the base of his spine to pull him closer, "you planning to back out on me?"

Even if he was, that option disappeared the second they'd raced to Hudson's bluff. Maybe even before that.

"I'm thinking about it," Michael replied, tugging at the lapels of David's coat and trying to push it over his shoulders despite the fact that David was busily trying to divest him at the same time. It was gratifying when he felt Michael's cock twitch in his grasp once he finally managed to work his way under stubborn boxers, and even better when the brunette pressed his lips to David's neck to let out a harsh breath, teeth threatening to bite, but restraining himself.

"I guess I got my answer," David remarked with a laugh, giving Michael one teasing stroke before pulling his hand away to finally oblige him by stripping off his own coat and tossing it towards the floor beside the bed. He could almost taste the hunger and frustration in Michael's body in that moment.

They stripped quickly, with minimal damage to their clothes, aside from a torn shirt and maybe one pair of tragically destroyed boxers that had fought admirably to defy David's commands.

"You're buying me a new pair," Michael warned, pushing David onto the bed and leaning down to claim his mouth before a smug grin could even try to form.

" _You look better without them,"_ David replied in his mind, refusing to be silenced despite the satisfying taste of Michael, and the temptation to bite back at his bottom lip just to make him bleed.

Michael pulled back, just enough to get a good look at him. David remained motionless, enjoying his own view. To them, there was no such thing as true darkness. Even without lights to see by, or fire to illuminate them, they saw each other in stark detail. The sight of Michael, preserved by David's blood, was an addiction. There was, however, one small problem. David drew a leg up to hook around Michael's and quickly flipped him over onto the mattress, switching places with him as easily as that.

"Much better," David remarked satisfied as he leaned down for another kiss, this time nicking his own tongue in the process to reward and placate his new lover before Michael could try to regain the illusion of the upper hand.

They inexpertly rocked against each other, impatience and feverish need winning out over thought, cocks sliding against each other in one perfect wild rhythm. Just as David prepared to pull away, he felt Michael shift beneath him. Their eyes met, uncontrolled flashes of feral yellow. A challenge. Far from killing the mood, their refusal to break contact laced the moment with an even darker need to dominate the other. It was no contest.

"Mine," David rasped, satisfied as Michael turned his head to bare his throat in reluctant submission. He didn't break skin when he pressed his teeth triumphantly to the arch between his fledgling's shoulder and neck, instead using the opportunity to run a hand over Michael's chest. Sharpened nails drew light pink scratches in its wake, and David drank in the delicious sound of his lover's shaking breaths.

He wanted to savour this. They both craved it.  _Needed_ it. David felt his own desire just as powerfully as Michael's, a mutual hunger between them made even more intense by their shared connection.

"What's wrong?" Michael prompted. All at once David realised he might have been savouring the moment a little too much. Now that he had what he wanted trapped beneath him, squirming impatiently. Michael gripped David by the back of his neck to pull him down into a rough kiss just as they ground their hips together again. He had to fight to maintain control, determined to explore every inch of Michael.

"Nothing," David replied harshly, breaking off the kiss to lick a trail down Michael's chest, tasting salt, iron, and  _him_.

He steadied himself, forcing his claws to recede so there were no unfortunate accidents once his hands reached Michael's hips, and he re-adjusted his position on the mattress for a better vantage point. It only took one quick glance back at his parted swollen lips and bed-tousled hair for David to know the invitation was there, and another more intent look at Michael's swollen arousal for him to accept it, tongue darting out to lick one long stripe from the head to the base.

Michael twisted his fingers into the sheets beneath them, letting slip a needy groan, "fuck!"

"I'm getting there," David promised, as if it was in response to a command. He was going at his own pace, but he wanted Michael to enjoy the ride.

He wanted to bury himself inside Michael then and there, to drive out any errant thoughts of Star clinging stubbornly in their minds, to claim what was his. It was only the barest thread that held him back and forced David to practice a virtue he despised. Patience. This wasn't just a quick fuck to relieve some tension or pass the time, it was more. Instinct, maybe. Something else.

"Comfortable?" David inquired innocently, earning a well-deserved glare before he lowered himself and stuck two fingers into his mouth, improvising to make Michael's cry just a little less sharp when he pressed them into his entrance, working him open. When Michael turned his head aside to bury his mouth into the pillow beneath him, the sight was enough to send a pleasurable shiver down David's spine. He wouldn't be able to hold back much longer, and by the looks of it Michael was even closer.

" _Come on,"_ Michael whispered in his mind, perhaps afraid to talk and risk losing control.

" _Think you can keep up?"_ David replied pulling his fingers free once he was satisfied and quickly lining himself up.

Tearing his face away from the pillow, Michael began to say something that quickly devolved into a harsh groan as David finally— _finally_ pressed inside him, deliciously slow and agonising with each second as he sank fully into that tight heat. He was gripping Michael's hips now, angling him just enough off the bed so he could lean down to press his forehead against Michael's and drink in the scent of him. They remained motionless for an eternity, listening to the sound of each other's fevered pants and the echoing hotel around them. It was perfect.

Michael was the first to move, drawing an arm up to dig his nails into David's back and pull him closer. His other hand gripped at his own arousal as he shifted beneath David to spur him on.

He batted Michael's hand away, taking the brunette's turgid prick in his hand and running a thumb lightly over the head, "not yet," David warned, pulling back and giving a sharp thrust as he released his hold. He grinned at the sound of Michael's sudden sharp scream, taking the same hand he'd batted away and pinning it above Michael's head as he began to drive into him in earnest.

David didn't hold back his own cries as he picked up the pace, pounding into Michael with abandon as the brunette pressed back against him to keep up the same frantic pace until David saw spots dancing in his vision as he approached climax. It had never been this good. Not for either of them.

His restraint disappeared altogether as he bit into Michael's neck and came with a deep, rumbling growl. A predator and its prey. A sharp, wonderful pain pierced his own shoulder as he felt Michael do the same. It was perfect.

* * *

Michael's gaze followed the curl of smoke puffing into the air and disappearing like a waking dream. He would have bummed a cigarette from David, but right now he just wanted to relax.

"You sure you don't want one?" David asked, flicking the ash onto the floor.

"I'm good," Michael replied, oddly relaxed. He watched the blonde silently, not quite surprised at how much he enjoyed the sight of David's bare legs twisted in the crumpled sheets beneath them. When Michael let his own leg brush up against his, he was relieved that the blonde didn't pull away or turn from him like he'd done something wrong.

Neither of them seemed to have anything to say. He couldn't honestly dredge up any feelings right now beyond a warm coil of pleasure resting in the pit of his stomach. He'd never had a thing for men. Before David. Then again, he'd never had a thing for eating people or playing sadistic head games with his little brother. Well, not  _that_ sadistic.

The bedsheets didn't have that particular musty fragrance of disuse. In fact, they smelled quite clean.

"How often do you come back here?" Michael asked, leaning back against the headboard and feigning disinterest. It was just sex. If he was one of many casual passengers in David's bed, then so be it.

David flicked the ashes from his cigarette, looking genuinely thoughtful before he responded, "often enough."

Michael threw one leg over the side of the bed and then the other, making a move to stand, "right," he replied, just a little surprised at how much that irritated him. Before he could leave, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I change the sheets every week. It's just a habit. Relax."

He wasn't lying. No point, really. It didn't seem possible for any of them to lie to each other when their thoughts were so close to the surface. Again, why would it even matter? Michael relaxed a little, settling back into the bed beside him. Was this a mistake?

"You're thinking too much," David told him, casually offering his cigarette to Michael, who relented and accepted it. It tasted like David. Reminded him of the night not too long ago that he'd tracked the older vampire down to challenge him only to find himself on his knees with the heady taste of David's blood on his tongue. Thinking too much? Michael had a hard time believing that was possible.

"What was it like for you?" Michael glanced over at him, letting a froth of smoke drift from his lips. It didn't escape his notice that David's eyes focused intensely on the source, which brought an oddly warm flush to his skin.

"What was  _what_ like?"

"The first few months."

"What, you mean when I died?" David asked as he took the cigarette back and sat up, "I told you I don't remember much."

"You killed your dad," Michael pointed out, "didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"So what else did you do?"

David released a harsh breath, not especially intent on the subject, "I was bored. When there was no one around to hunt, it was just me and Max for the first few years. Everything sort of blurs together. Max wasn't as much of an asshole before he traded in brothels for three piece suits and white picket fences. I guess that was fun. Too many windows, though. Didn't last long."

That was a nice mental image. Michael flinched a little at the thought. A couple of nights when they'd been out half an hour shy of dawn was enough for him.

"Did you get burnt?"

"Hell no," David replied, laughing harshly as he stubbed his cigarette out against the headboard and flicked it to the ground, "I wasn't stupid enough to sleep there."

Michael had a distinct feeling these weren't memories David cared to think about, so he didn't press any further. Instead, he shifted to his side to get a better look at the older vampire. "I guess we'd better get dressed."

"Oh?" David asked, brushing sharp nails lightly over Michael's thigh, "what's the rush?"

* * *

The water had gotten icy several minutes ago, but Sam was still afraid to leave the shower. He peeked out through the shower curtain expecting to see a blood-soaked pile of clothes with red foot tracks all over the bathroom floor, but the clothes were pristine. The floor spotless.

Tonight he was going to find all the pencils he could and tape them together to make crosses, and hang them over all the doorways. Then maybe he'd rub garlic on the handles and dump a bunch of dried rice at the front and backdoor. One of the comics Ed and Alan gave him said vampires liked to count that shit. If Mike got stuck in the trap, he could just throw a blanket over his head and pull him into the house before sunrise. Spike-head could stay outside.

"Sam," Lucy called out, knocking gently on the bathroom door. "Sam, I'm going to bed. We can talk about what's bothering you tomorrow, but I'm getting worried."

He frowned, reaching forward to turn off the faucets and using the towel he'd slung over the curtain rod to dry his face, "I'm fine, mom. Like I said, I was reading too many horror comics, and-" he hesitated, not sure how to explain his sudden disappearance from dinner and his hour long shower, "-and I had an accident." He flushed bright red, but it was the only convincing lie he could come up with on the spot that didn't land him in a straightjacket.

"Oh! Honey! Do you need medicine? Do you need me to come in there?"

"What?! No! Why would-why would I need you to come in here?"

Lucy paused, "just put your dirty clothes in the sink and I'll take care of them later. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I am." As long as he didn't die of terminal humiliation, he was sure he'd be fine. He just had to come up with a plan to fix his brother. There was no telling what spike-head had probably done to him, after those sick mind games he'd played on Sam tonight. He had to talk to the Frogs.


	17. Waterlogged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Edgar and Alan stake out a pizza joint, Marko and Paul struggle with Dwayne's punishment for interrupting his quiet time.

"Left. I said go left.  _Left!"_ Alan shoved his brother's shoulder, trying to edge in on his side of the arcade game. They didn't have enough quarters for two players. They were here for business anyway, so they didn't have time for more than one round. One long, intense round of Dig Dug. There was no other game more  _intense._ No game more brutal. No game that didn't have a suspiciously sticky joystick that hadn't been sanitized in weeks. This wasn't exactly a clean arcade room. More of a storage closet at the back of a pizza restaurant with a few machines taking up the extra space.

Edgar couldn't look away from the screen. Not when he'd just popped another dastardly green lizard thing. "Where is he? Alan, aren't you supposed to be keeping a lookout?"

"I am. Do you even know what left means?"

Sometimes it was a real tactical challenge fighting the forces of darkness with his brother. Alan seemed to have this weird habit of forgetting who was in charge. After all, Edgar was older by about a year. His instincts were more honed, his intellect more keen, his-

The death knells of Dig Dug were illustrated by one awful, cartoony funerary song that signaled the end of the game. Edgar gave a loud cry of angry defeat, swiftly kicking the machine with as much force as he could manage. By the time he'd finished whimpering in pain, Alan had already left and come back with a Pepsi cup from the front counter.

"Told you to turn left," Alan remarked stoically, taking a sip from his straw. "You never listen."

Edgar glared back at his brother silently as he reached for his backpack beside the arcade machine, "so this guy who works at the funhouse, he's supposed to show up soon?"

"That's what the guy at the counter said," Alan told him, "funhouse is the night job. If anybody knows about the funny stuff happening there, this guy will."

Edgar nodded, shouldering his backpack, "if he doesn't, we can at least find out when the place is closed. I don't wanna deal with cops." As thick as Santa Carla seemed to be with blood-suckers and god knew what else, neither of the Frog brothers would be surprised if half the police force were secret neck-biting corpses.

They hung out at one of the booth tables near the front of the restaurant, giving every single person who walked through the door their most intimidating scowls. It was a wonder anybody sat near them. Maybe it was just the Debbie Gibson music playing on the jukebox. Hard to create a tough guy vibe with the teeny bopper of the year expressing her need to shake someone's love.

Alan pushed his half-finished Pepsi towards Edgar. "I think I see him," he pointed towards the windows by the door where a rumpled-looking guy with a greasy ponytail, matching mustache, and a wrinkled green pizza joint uniform was crossing. He looked just like the sort of sleazy thug Edgar had always pictured interrogating in his vampire-obsessed dreams. All they needed was a quiet room and a two-way mirror. This guy had to know something big.

Leaning forward, Edgar tried to hide his face, just enough so that he wouldn't be recognized if someone involved with whatever went down at the Funhouse was hanging around. For good measure, he held the Pepsi cup beside his cheek to add to the mystique. He didn't miss the funny look his brother gave him in the process.

"Ed, what're you doing?" Alan asked, turning away from him to watch their target walk into the building and wave at the girl working by the front counter.

"Sorry, had a flat," he told her. Probably lying. A guy like this had to be hiding something.

"I'm incognito," Edgar hissed at his brother, struggling to keep half of his face hidden while still watching the guy make his way around the corner of the counter and into the kitchen area behind it.

Alan straightened up in his seat, eyeing the girl at the register who just then seemed to notice both of them. Edgar followed his gaze, watching the girl in turn. She had a funny look in her eye, staring back at the pair of them. Maybe she knew something too, but  _what?!_

"Ed, put the cup down. We come here every other Friday. A Pepsi cup is not a disguise," Alan whispered, "I wanna get a refill."

Edgar scowled, lowering the cup to the table. Maybe Alan had a point. They had a reputation that probably followed them everywhere anyway. He reluctantly let his brother take the Pepsi cup, advising him conspiratorially, "just figure out a way to get him to talk to us while you're doing it. We're not here to screw around. We've got a job to do."

"Don't worry about it," Alan told him, "I've got it." He stood up and sauntered over to the counter, casting a dark look at a few innocent bystanders in the process to keep up the dark vibe they were trying to go for.

Edgar Frog dug into his backpack, dragging it into the seat beside him. He managed to dig his fingers into the eye-holes of their trophy, yanking out his trusty vampire skull to set it on the table, maneuvering the napkin dispenser in front of it so nobody around them would see it. By the time his brother had returned, Edgar was ready. He knew exactly how this would go, without a doubt.

Alan took a sip of Pepsi and settled down in front of him, a wary expression on his face, "so I think maybe we're off the mark here, Ed."

He couldn't believe his ears. "What? No, this guy works there. I know he does!"

Alan sighed outwardly, setting his cup down, "no, I mean I don't think he's involved in anything shady. Maybe the guys who work at the funhouse don't know anything."

"How do you know that?" Edgar demanded, making a move to cover the skull with a napkin when a couple walked by. "Have you even looked at the guy? He's got scumbag written all over him."

"He's the shift manager, dude," Alan stated flatly. "He's got a kid at home. Chris told me everything."

"Chris?"

"The chick at the counter," Alan explained, taking another sip of his Pepsi, "I got her number."

"Well I guess that's something," Edgar grumbled, "at least we can make a house call. You think she's in on this, then?"

Alan just stared back at him. He looked like he was waiting for some sort of light bulb moment. Maybe there was something Edgar hadn't figured out here. Were they listening in?

"So…" Edgar trailed off, struggling to make sense of this. "What do you want to do? Follow him around? Do some old-fashioned detective-"

Alan cut him off, "we're going to interview him for a summer project. Something about local heroes. I told Chris we're freelance pizza artists. He'll be ready in a couple of minutes, but I really don't think-"

"Alan, you're a genius!" Edgar slapped his brother on the shoulder, "we've got em right where we want em!"

For some reason, Alan didn't seem to take the compliment with pride like he should have. In fact, he almost looked like he was giving the chick at the counter an almost apologetic look. Probably just keeping up an act so they could catch their guy unaware. Good idea.

Eventually, once Edgar had managed to find three crumpled bills at the very bottom of his bag, they bought two slices of pepperoni pizza to enjoy while they waited. It wasn't too long before the man himself sauntered over to their table with a dishcloth in his hands, wiping at his fingers like he'd just been knuckle-deep in something sticky.

"So, what did you kids want to ask me?" The guy looked between the two, seemingly oblivious to their  _true_ purpose for being there. Good.

"You work at the funhouse, don't you?" Edgar asked, focusing all of his energy on  _not_ intimidating this guy. They wouldn't play good cop, bad cop until they absolutely had to.

"Yeah, weekends. I don't make pizza there, though," he replied, giving them both a disarming smile. It almost looked warm.

"Has anything weird been happening there lately?" Alan cut in before Edgar could make his move and demand answers.

The guy shoved his washcloth into his front apron pocket, looking back at Alan with confusion, "what, you mean other than kids breaking in at night and marking up the walls? Making up silly stories? Nah. It's actually pretty quiet there, for the most part. Honestly, we usually just use it for holiday storage more than tours. Half the time it's just a skeleton crew keeping people from wrecking up the place. I'm not really sure what this has to do with the restaurant. Chris said you guys liked making pizza?"

"Yeah,  _pizza,_ " Edgar sneered. They weren't getting anywhere. This dude was unreadable. Clever. No, getting any real answers from him wasn't going to be easy. "How do you make pizza?" He prompted, slowly reaching for the hidden skull. His ace in the whole. His one chess piece to make the guy spill his guts in fear of the stalwart hunters before him. Alan quickly reached forward to push Edgar's hand away and gave his brother a quick head-shake in warning. What was he playing at?

"That's sort of a tough question to answer. I mean we don't just order in frozen crusts and splash on the sauce like your typical franchise. We've got a recipe…" The guy went on and on. Edgar didn't catch much of it. He was too busy scowling in confusion back at his brother.

"Thanks," Alan piped up once their perp had finished his lecture on the properties of yeast packets and good flour. "I think we've got a good start here. You mind if we come back in a few days to follow up?"

"Sure, not a problem. You kids can come back any time. I'll even throw in a free slice on your next visit if you show me what you've written. Always nice to know I'm someone's hero." The guy gave Edgar and Alan two gentle pats on the shoulder before turning and briskly walking back to the kitchen. His lair. Maybe he had some sort of drug-laced concoctions back there he threw in the fog machines at the funhouse. Maybe he was a Satan worshipper. Or in league with the vampires!

Alan grabbed the skull once they were alone again and pushed it towards Edgar, "dude, chill out. Dial it down a bit, will ya? We can't just use this prop every time we talk to someone."

"You ruined the whole thing," Edgar snapped back, "what're we gonna do now? Follow him?"

"I guess," Alan replied, shrugging, "I think maybe we should start with just the funhouse. We can go there with Sam this weekend and use dad's old Betacam. Maybe try finding answers on our own before we get ourselves banned for life from Pizza Chuck's?"

He made a good point, though Edgar was still struggling to follow his logic entirely. "You were happy to do the interrogation we got here? What changed?"

Alan chose that moment to take a huge gulp of Pepsi and ignored the question, his eyes roving over to the girl at the counter.  _Typical._

* * *

Deep beneath the sunken hotel, where the water met the cliff, a large space of earth and gravel had been worn into a very wide pit. The rocks were too tightly enclosed to let in any shards of stray sunlight, but water spilled in and gradually receded until nothing remained but standing pools until high tide would nearly fill it to the very top. There was always just enough space left for two vampires to avoid being soaked and burned by the running water, if they were able to withstand it for several hours. The task was a little more difficult with their arms and legs restrained by several lengths of thick chain, and their bodies' insistence that they sleep.

Marko and Paul fought a losing battle against the elements. Neither would escape by nightfall without severe burns unless they were willing to help each other out, and take turns keeping watch over the rising tide.

"This is all your fault," Marko hissed, glaring back at Paul in the dark. They were angling their bodies against the roof of the enclosure at the moment, as high tide claimed most of the space below them. Weakened by daytime exhaustion, and the chains restricting their movement, their abilities to cling to the rocks were very limited. Marko had already been splashed several times by the water below, and he had the angry welts on his face to prove it.

"You need to learn to take a joke," Paul snapped back at him, "you're always such a whiny bitch when you're hungry, you know that?"

Marko huffed, "I'm not hungry."

"So you're just a whiny bitch, then," Paul retorted.

"Why do you always have to keep pushing? Why can't you just stop when you're ahead, Paul?" Marko demanded, pressing himself even tighter against the rocky ceiling as the water poured in and stole a few more inches of their precious space. Dwayne sure knew how to make his point.

Paul looked away from him, his weary voice cracking as he spoke, "I get bored. Maybe I wanted to go out. I was just playing around. I wasn't trying to piss you off."

"That's your problem. You're always playing or joking. You remember when Max cut both my eyes out because of your stupid games?" Marko demanded. The memory of that week without sight still gave him nightmares. There was nothing worse than being deprived of an instinct.

The silence that followed was only punctuated by trickling water slowly leaking out of the enclosure. For a moment, Marko thought Paul had fallen asleep.

"I didn't mean for that to happen," Paul murmured, "I didn't know he'd do that."

They had a little more space to move now. In a few minutes the water would have drained from their enclosure enough for them to get a little sleep. Judging by the last couple of hours they'd spent dangling from their chains, they had a good half hour to rest before the fight to cling to the ceiling began a new. Marko had forgiven Paul for that incident a long time ago, the day his packmate had guided him from Max's basement and made it his job to feed and care for him while his eyes healed. He just wanted to lash out. Marko felt a pang of regret now for bringing it up.

Some of the heat had drained from his words, but Marko needed to say it anyway, "you're acting like you can still get a rise out of him. He's dead. Stop being a jerk to the rest of us."

He half-expected some irritable retort, or stubborn denial. Instead, to his surprise, Paul's thoughts brushed across Marko's mind, tired, apologetic, " _it's hard. I'm still pissed off. I don't know who to take it out on anymore._ "

No one could ever accuse Max of being a good sire. None of them had wanted the blood. Paul's turning had been the worst out of the group. Hard to believe he used to be a preacher's son. For Max, they are all just conquests in the end. Parts of his little collection.

Marko managed to angle his head just enough to look back at Paul without sinking towards the bottom of the enclosure where some water still sloshed about in wait for them, ready to fry their skin at the first opportunity. " _That's what hunting is for_ ," he replied, so dangerously close to a fucking Hallmark moment that he had to quickly add "seriously, next time you get me stuck down here with you, I'm kicking your skinny ass."


	18. A Light Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Marko don't look too good, so the rest of the boys go out hunting alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short this chapter, but this felt like an appropriate place to cut. Might be wrapping up the story pretty soon, once I've got Sam and the Frogs' next scene ready. It's going to be a doozy.

David's rest should have been more uncomfortable, punctuated by the sharp bites of pain he felt whenever his packmates below were splashed with salt water. He slept far too deep, however, to register any of it. He was thoroughly exhausted. Every inch of his body screamed for rest, and he was all too happy to oblige it.

The day passed in an instant, as it usually did, and he was reluctant to wake. He was  _comfortable,_ damn it.

" _David,"_ Dwayne's voice broke into his sluggish thoughts, " _it's almost high tide. We'd better get them soon."_

"Mmh," David groaned softly, though whether it was in agreement or not even he couldn't say. He cracked open one eye to find Michael still asleep, dangling from a perch in front of him. Close enough to touch. Or maybe even taste if Dwayne wasn't bugging him and ruining the mood.

Dwayne was standing on the ground below them, watching the two. Not even remotely interested in feigning surprise at what the pair had done last night. It was inevitable. David always got what he wanted, and he really  _wanted_ Michael.

" _Can't you get them yourself?"_ David asked, unhooking his claws from the perch and descending quickly. He would let Michael sleep a little longer. It would be fun to wake him later if he had to.

" _If they need to be carried, it would be easier for both of us to just make the one trip,"_ Dwayne replied. He wasn't sorry for punishing the pair. That didn't mean he wanted to make them suffer once they'd learned whatever lesson it was that had pissed him off so much.

David relented, leading the way through a seldom-used passage that led to a sharp drop-off towards the back of their resting area. At the very bottom of the hotel, where foundations had been torn and shifted into the rocks, a small semblance of a cave near the edge of the cliff was formed. When they were lucky, and the waters were calm enough outside, it made for a nice place to bathe in standing pools. As long as they timed it right.

They had been packmates too long for Dwayne to need him to say it, but this was not a punishment David intended for them to ever have to use again. He was not Max. He had not cut himself off from the pain and emotions they all shared. He didn't particularly enjoy torturing members of his own bloodline for fun. That aside, he trusted Dwayne's judgment enough to know this one time was necessary, for whatever reason.

"How's it going? Still alive?" A weak, but still somewhat playful voice inquired below them. It was Paul. Once David and Dwayne descended into the enclosure of rocks, they got an almost endearing image of Paul supporting Marko against the rocks to help him avoid getting splashed by several violent waves below them. Of the pair, Marko looked the worse for wear. He didn't have quite the same endurance as Paul.

"You look like drowned rats," David observed, wrinkling his nose, "and you smell like bad fish."

Dwayne clung to the rock walls and crawled towards the two, pulling a key from his front coat pocket and quickly unlocking the chains he'd used to bind their hands and feet.

Paul didn't even seem to have the energy to come up with any reply to David's remark, and simply helped Dwayne get a good grip on Marko while their chains fell into the water below. David climbed over the rocks next and pulled Paul into his arms.

"Come on, princess," he stated dryly, rising back through the passage they'd descended from. Paul had fought admirably keeping Marko from getting hurt more than he had to, but they would both need a lot of blood tonight. David seriously doubted they'd be able to get it for themselves.

Their journey to the hotel lobby was not an easy one. Alone, each of them had no difficulty slipping through the cracks and crevices they used as passageways. Carrying each other created much tighter squeezes and awkward paths. By the time Dwayne and David had both managed to settle the pair together on the couch, Michael was already perching on the edge of the fountain, leaning forward with his elbows on his spread knees and a curious expression on his face. "Do I want to know?" He asked, eyes flicking over Paul and Marko's saltwater scorched skin and soaking hair. They really did look like shit.

"I was in a bad mood," Dwayne replied distractedly, kneeling down to examine a welt on Paul's upturned wrist. A doctor inspecting a patient. Distantly critical and concerned at the same time. "Thought they needed a bath."

Marko reached for a worn-out blanket that had been left on the side of the couch and drew his legs up onto the cushion to fully cover himself. Neither he nor Paul looked like they would be leaving their spots any time soon. David suspected they were over-acting just a little. For now he supposed he could let it pass. They'd just be a liability if he tried to make them go on tonight's hunt anyway.

"So, just the three of us," David remarked, strolling over to his wheelchair and dropping down into it, "what's the game plan tonight? Bowling? Bar crawl? Diving for deadbeats?" They did have to occasionally mix it up if they didn't want anyone picking up on their hunting patterns. Beach combing was a nice little community service, but there was still the occasional hunter who seemed to think it was a problem.

Michael straightened up a little and made room for Dwayne to sit down beside him, edging closer to David in the process without even seeming to realize it. "I'm not picky," Michael replied, "it'd be nice to eat someone who shaved in the last week, though." Drifters had a disturbing lack of care when it came to hygiene or just about any habits beyond eating, sleeping, and drinking.

"Carry out will be a lot easier if we go somewhere close," Dwayne pointed out, "there's the RV park. We haven't been there in a few years."

Yeah. That worked. Always new faces there. Only the tourists were stupid enough to have summer night barbeques. Judging by the scent of the air, David didn't even have to look outside to know it was perfect for a cookout. He could just taste the mustard dogs now, right before they dropped their act.

David's lips curled into a sly smile as he leaned forward to speak, that much closer to Michael, "how about we play around first, pick the prime cuts?" The miserable expressions on Paul and Marko's faces made it that much more delicious. They deserved to be teased too, once in awhile. Injured or not.

"You don't think we'll stick out?" Michael asked, looking between the two. He made a good point. They didn't exactly give off the boy next door vibe your average yuppy on a family road trip would share a meal with. Then again, it was sort of hard to hide the uneasy vibe they gave people, even if they dropped the biker look for jean shorts and surfer tanks.

"Us?" Dwayne but in, straightening his jacket and pretending to look a little offended, "we'll blend right in."

* * *

Santa Carla sucked. Nothing to do but swim on an overcrowded beach during the day and then hang out in the RV park at night, because his stupid dad didn't want to risk anyone getting hurt. What was the big deal? Yeah, murder capital, whatever. Just because a few dumb kids went missing and someone graffitied a billboard, Trevor was stuck with his annoying little sister and his stupid parents. He didn't even want to go on this trip in the first place.

For the fifteenth time in ten minutes (he knew, because he was counting, Trevor slapped a mosquito digging voraciously into his upper arm. Combining that with the smell of grilling meat, the screaming kids trying to streak around the RV camping grounds, and his mom listing off her favorite scrapbooking techniques to her fellow chicken-necked housewives, Trevor was sure he was going to drop dead from boredom and misery. Why couldn't something interesting happen? At least a firework or two. Anything!

"Trevor," his dad called out to him, "yo, little man!" His dad raised his voice just as Trevor fumbled for the volume on his walkman. Unfortunately his headphones and the Fine Young Cannibals fell just short of saving him from the old man's stern glare and slap on his back. "Trevor, go inside and get the extra brats, would ya?"

"Yeah, sure," Trevor relented, standing up from the graffiti-covered picnic table. Not like they were really going to eat  _that_ many hot dogs, but whatever. His parents had this weird thing about finding reasons to keep him busy. God forbid he have  _any_ fun this summer.

By the time he'd finally managed to bring out the tray of sausage they didn't really need (unless they were planning to feed an army), there were three guys hanging around the fire pit with his father and little sister as if they'd always been there. Laughing and joking. Dressed like the sort of guys his dad always complained were ruining the country. Metal heads. Devil worshippers.  _Democrats_.

"Uh, mom?" Trevor called out, looking around. Somehow the chicken-neck society his mother formed had migrated around to the picnic table, and half of them were beaming at the three guys like they were just aching to throw their daughters right in the path of danger and pre-teen pregnancy.

"Trevor, go on and give your dad the food," his mother scolded, re-directing her attention to her friends as if the guys standing uncomfortably close to his old man weren't in any way out of the ordinary.

"Well, hurry up," his dad snapped, waving him over with a grease-caked spatula. "I want you to meet these guys."

Why? So they could mug him? Slash the RV tires? Teach the family how to strip cars for parts? Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. Trevor tossed hs unopened package of bratwursts onto the picnic table and stubbornly shoved his headphones over his ears, "no thanks," he replied, heading back towards the RV. He half-expected his mother to jump up from her seat and launch herself at him with some high-pitched lecture, but they thankfully let him go back to the RV. He didn't even make it to the door before his little sister was running ahead of him to tear it open and dash inside.

"One of these days, that kid is going to find himself in a lot of trouble," he could hear his dad shouting, because the man's voice only had one level - - and it was maximum. "Sure am glad we get to meet a few locals, hardly get much time to really enjoy a trip before those two are getting in trouble. So, you three ever thought about Amway? Could get you a nice deal."

Trevor didn't see the blonde casually flick his cigarette to the ground and tear out the older man's throat before the embers had even gone dark. Nor did he see his mom's chicken neck society dispersed with the black haired monster's long toothed cackles. Nor did he see the last guy carry two of them into the air just to drop them and watch their limbs snap on the ground below. He didn't even hear the screams. His music was too loud. He couldn't figure out why his little sister suddenly burst into tears and dash towards the RV window until he'd yanked his headphones off. The screams were nearly deafening.

Without thinking, he dashed to the RV door and locked it, grabbing the nearest chair to prop up against the door handle for good measure. Then he grabbed his little sister and pulled her close while he watched the nightmare outside. There weren't many RVs in the park tonight. Most of the other tourists had been moving out over the last few days, but he could see a few shuddering as their engines kicked into gear and the surviving people outside ran from their tormentors.

Trevor pressed a hand to his sister's mouth just as she was letting out a sharp scream when the brunette from that trio of monsters stopped in front of the RV window and stared back at them, his eyes glowing a bright shade of yellow, face painted bright red with what was probably his parents blood. It probably wouldn't take much to shatter the glass and reach through to grab them both. He pulled his sister closer, unable to look away. The monster outside seemed to be thinking about what to do. He tapped sharp claws against the glass to the beat of Trevor's headphones that were resting around his neck now. How did he even hear it?

"Please," Trevor mouthed the word, all of his bitter humor about his family and this vacation fleeing in the face of his imminent death. Then, all of a sudden, the monster was gone, leaving bloodied streaks on the RV window. The screaming outside had stopped.

Murder capital of the world. Yeah. He believed it now.


End file.
